Never Sleep
by Stalker of Stories
Summary: Hadley feels her cousin is a little off. Harry doesn't feel anything. AU Rewrite Hiatus until January 2013
1. Leap of Faith

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Joanne Kathleen Rowling and associates, of whom I am not one. This is a rewrite of a fic from 4 years ago.**

**Warnings: AU, mentions of child abuse, ongoing theme of drug abuse, some character bashing (but only such that it follows canon and canon trends), spoilers through Deathly Hallows, coarse language, some minor OCs.**

Chapter 1: A Leap of Faith

Hadley Potter knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that what her "family" did to her was wrong.

She'd seen once, on the telly, there was a program that included someone being beaten, and psychologists talking about how sometimes victims of abuse didn't think of it as abuse. They thought they deserved it, that things like that ought to happen to them. In the show it had been a wife beaten by her husband.

Hadley was too young to have a husband, but her aunt, uncle, and cousin did well enough to match the beating from the telly. Granted, they were more subtle in their abuse, and only Dudley ever hit her – though he stopped this summer since she started to "develop" and bruises on a young woman were more suspicious than on a waif of a girl who was more often than not mistaken for a boy.

As it was, it was only at Hogwarts that she had a long enough break from her aunt's constant cutting that her hair could grow out to a more feminine shoulder length, a bit longer each year after, and her aunt couldn't cut it after her return from school or else the neighbors would notice. Her jet black hair didn't stick up as much this way, and even hid "that atrocious scar" her aunt always wanted her to be rid of, but that first summer back from Hogwarts had involved a lot hair pulling and snide remarks. She felt it was worth it, compared to the Sorting when there had been whispers of surprise that the Girl Who Lived would look like a boy.

Well, even now her figure was fairly boyish, too lean and barely developed when other girls her year were already as shapely as they would ever be. Still, it was enough to mark a bit of a difference.

Generally speaking, her abuse was more subtle than outright violence. Her aunt drove her into the ground with chores it sometimes felt like. It wasn't an insurmountable task that Aunt Petunia presented her with each morning, but it sometimes felt like it. Especially the cooking. Hadley hated the cooking, how it made her stomach growl ravenously as she made a feast at every meal only to be given a plate of toast or a sandwich, or whatever of the foods were the most bland or least desired by her family. This meant that at dinners she would often receive only mash or only vegetables, or nothing at all if neither were on the menu that night.

Thankfully, Aunt Petunia didn't trust her with certain things – she wasn't to polish the silver or wash the glass or touch anyone's laundry, the latter for fear she might be some foul pervert and want Dudley's skidmarked pants she supposed. No, Hadley only did the chores Petunia didn't want to do, hoovering, weeding, anything that might be deemed manual labor.

The time between summers, spent at the magical school known as Hogwarts, both gave her the chance to catch up on her nutrition and softened her body from the labors she was otherwise subjected to.

Uncle Vernon's torture was worst, she thought. When she was young it had just been shouting, and if she did something "freakish" he would box her ears or some such, which was alright enough. In later years of Primary school, he made her repeat the insults to him word for word, that she call herself freak, her mother a whore, her father a drunk. He made her make herself feel worthless, taking the work out of his hands. When she started Hogwarts, Vernon made her recite how evil magic was, how terrible she was for forcing her freakish world on them, how she wasn't worthy of their help, food, and shelter, how she was only alive out of their mercy.

Lately had been the worst, she felt. That summer Hadley could swear she felt his eyes on her, in places she would very much rather they were not.

No, Hadley knew she was abused, she knew her abusers, and she knew, without any shadow of a doubt, that she did not deserve any of this. She didn't deserve her parents to be dead either, or the scar on her brow, but least of all did she deserve the hatred of the only people in the world she had to call family.

It was only by sheer luck that day that Hadley didn't have some unlimited number of chores to do. The garden was weeded, the bushes trimmed, the kitchen spotless, an easier task than the previous year now that meals were strictly regulated for Dudley's diet. Petunia couldn't think of anything that wouldn't be a waste of her cleaning supplies and had instead told Hadley to get out of the house and out of her hair until dinner time.

And so it was, on a rather cool summer's day not long after her fourteenth birthday, that Hadley found herself at one of her few childhood safe havens. The park was always well populated in summer time, especially on weekends. There were always children around, and parents. It was the one place in the world she knew Dudley couldn't get away with bothering her. And oh, did he bother her when he could; he may not hit her anymore, but "playfully shoving" his cousin wasn't suspect, and one did not have to get physical to bother.

There weren't many children out today, at least not at the park, which could be expected for a Tuesday. There were a handful playing tag on the play structure, their mothers keeping an eagle eye on them, and a couple of girls a bit younger than Hadley sitting with a teen magazine over at the tree-line, but otherwise the only person past puberty and apparently not watching children was a black-haired man sitting on a bench with a book.

The swings were free, the children content with their game of Lava Monster by the slides, and Hadley seated herself on them with little bother for grace.

In primary school, Hadley never got to sit on the swings, because either bigger kids or Dudley's goons would take the entire set before she could even try them. She had wondered, for what seemed eternity, what it would be like to fly through the air with her hair streaming behind her and the earth far beneath her feet. As a witch, and one with a top-of-the-line flying broomstick, she knew better than she'd ever dreamed in her childhood just how wonderful that was.

Still, there was something nice about the simple back and forth of a swing, her feet skidding through the worn patch in the grass below her, and the sun broke through for a bit to give some warmth before the clouds stole it away again.

All in all, Hadley could call this the best day of summer yet.

Or so she would if a hard shove didn't send her back to earth, and rather more literally than she might have liked.

After hitting the dirt, Hadley rolled onto her side and winced. Dudley was standing over her, fat sagging everywhere, as he spoke in a tone of voice he had apparently perfected at Smeltings, though he had started using it the summer before starting at his prestigious public school. It was a small saving grace every time the swing made its jolting twist-swing over her head, since it saved her the sight of his fat rolls seen below the shirt.

"Oh, are you okay _Hadley_?" His face was much meaner than his voice, piggy eyes showing his small triumph at knocking her down. "I was just going to give you a push. But I'm a growing boy, I guess I don't know my own strength!" Hadley had always stood by the idea that her cousin was a stupid pig, but it was times like this that she was reminded even trolls like Crabbe and Goyle were sly and ambitious enough for Slytherin.

Oh yes, Hadley was certain her _dear_ cousin would be perfect for that house, if one ignored the fact that, even if he did have magic, he would be muggleborn. Halfbloods barely managed to survive that house, let alone "mudbloods".

"I'm fine Dudley, thanks for your concern," Hadley pulled herself to her feet using the chain of the slowly twisting swing, ignoring the pudgy hand outstretched to "help" her; it was more likely to pull too hard and send her head first into the support beams for the set. No, Hadley was quite capable of standing on her own two feet, thank you _very_ much.

She started edging away, hoping to make a run for the tree line and escape. In Dudley's current shape he probably couldn't do more than waddle past three paces, she could escape easily once out of arm's reach.

"Come on, let me give you a hug to say sorry," Dudley's face was schooled, though poorly, and Hadley had little doubt that any hug from him would leave bruising, and maybe a cracked rib or three.

With him advancing, she booked it toward the trees, frizzy black hair doing its level best to obscure her vision as she ran. Dudley's steps were barely audible on the dirt behind her, but heavy and plodding. In a minute she knew she could be far enough away to safely walk in a large circle back home when she wanted to, but for now she was safe in the knowledge she was out of harm's way. No way would Dudley bother going into the wooded part of the park after her, he wasn't quite so dumb as that. He may live to torment her, but he was lazier than Ron on a sunny day with school work to not do.

No, no matter how much she always considered him a dumb pig, Dudley wasn't that stupid, but certainly that mean.

So she continued walking, into a different section of the small plot of land that held most of the trees in Little Whinging, before sitting down to relax. In the shade as she was, it was colder than she might like, especially when she had been in the comfortable warmth of the early August sun just minutes ago, and there was a light sheen of sweat from her mad sprint into the trees.

"Should you be shivering? It's got to be twenty-four degrees out today."

Hadley jumped off the bundle of roots she had made her roost upon and spun around to the source of the voice. It came from above, oddly, and she found an older boy sitting a few feet above her head two trees to the south. He was the same one who had been reading on the bench in the park, she thought.

His hair was chin length and full of both waves and cowlicks, a popular length among muggle boys nowadays she was pretty sure. It had looked pitch black from the distance, but now he was nearer, and there was sunlight behind him, she could see some red to it, a dark brown or very dark auburn then. His skin was tanned and his cheeks apparently burned but otherwise rather normal looking. His clothing was normal, department store quality and a bit big on him, but normal, the shorts riding up his legs from the tree and some scars on his arms bared from the cut of the shirt.

All in all, he was very normal, except that his eyes were an unnaturally bright green, much like Hadley's own. It was strange, considering even in the magical world her eyes were an oddity. But then, didn't muggles have colored eye contacts? She'd seen people walking about in London with orange eyes or strange patterns when she had been last year. Though now she could see a light glare in front of his eyes. Glasses then, probably frameless, so it was unlikely he had contacts too.

"I- I'm sorry?" Hadley said to the odd man.

"It's pretty warm out today," he said, his voice of a very normal pitch, and the topic about as interesting. "It's probably about twenty four degrees out, maybe twenty two in the shade. It's just a bit warm to be shivering is all. Are you the sort that starts bundling up as early as September? Winters must be miserable for you." He wasn't looking at her, still reading his book from the park. A hefty text book of some sort it looked like, though Hadley couldn't read the title from her current distance.

Dudley had "accidentally" broken her glasses as a birthday gift to her a few days prior. While she wasn't as bad off as many people, it did make reading signs difficult, and things started to get blurry maybe seven or eight feet out.

"I suppose," Hadley really wasn't sure where this was going. And it wasn't her fault she was so thin, with the meager meals her jailers provided. Hopefully by Halloween she would put on enough weight to keep a bit warmer.

"Would you like to go get some lunch?" Hadley blinked at the sudden topic change. "I'm sorry, that was sudden, wasn't it?" He didn't sound sorry, or anything of the sort. His tone was just as flat as before, really. "I'm not trying to sound creepy but… hm, no, saying that sounds creepy too, doesn't it? I guess I should be introducing myself or something first. I'm Harry Potter."

Hadley continued staring at him like he'd grown a second head. Why would she introduce herself to a stranger who was admitting his own creepiness? And while the similarity to her own name did catch her attention for a moment, she knew Harry Potters were a dime a dozen.

"… You aren't going to introduce yourself then, that's fine," Harry Potter shrugged the off the slight. "Logically speaking, I suppose most people would. I'm sorry, I'm a bit out of sorts today. I'm going to be meeting some relatives unfortunately. My parents are dead, and I just found out Mum had a half sister out in Surrey – well, two half sisters but one's dead since the eighties. Trying to gear myself up to go meet them, but all I know is an address and that she's married."

"Well, good luck with that?" Hadley really had no idea what to say to him. He was right bonkers, but reasonably so she supposed. He didn't say when his parents died, but if he meant recently he could be on antidepressant medications. She'd seen on the telly that those could mess with someone's equilibrium.

"I might need it, anyone I ask only says terrible things about them," he sighed. "Says my aunt is a bit of a one-upper, and dotes on her son, and the son's a bully of a whale and my uncle's a loud braggart. Heard something about another in the family, a delinquent girl who goes whoring around and swiping things from shops, even though she's underage, but apparently my aunt's decent enough to take her in at least. Not the best sort of family, but I have to meet them. I mean, I think I do. Closure or something, so I know where things stand in the family."

Hadley froze at his description. The aunt, uncle, and male cousin sounded very much like her own aunt, uncle, and cousin. And the female cousin… well, she was aware of the rumors that Petunia spread around the neighborhood about her. Never mind that the only physical contact she'd ever had with a boy had been generally unwilling – Quirrell's physical assault to take the Philosopher's Stone being a good case in point – she knew exactly what the neighbors thought she did.

"You mean the Dursley family then?" she ventured finally, feeling a little sick.

"Yeah, at least that's the name I was given when I was asking about," Harry nodded. "My mum's name was Camellia Jones, but she was illegitimate, an affair from before her father met his future wife, y'know? It happened a lot back then – I guess it happens a lot now, too – but he stuck around long enough to name her. And then she met my Dad, Ben Potter, at school and they had little old me. There aren't any Potters on that side left who aren't alcoholic wrecks or criminals, and the Joneses disowned my Grandmum when she had Mum, so… I dunno. I'm not expecting much. Maybe just a cup of tea and a hello before I'm booted off."

It was now a very strange coincidence, Hadley realized, that they had such similar names. And there was a tiny push of compassion within her, the knowledge that she should really warn him off before he had to sit through Petunia's constant praise of Dudley, even if only long enough for an uninvited tea.

She also realized he talked a lot, and gave personal information very easy. Maybe he was a little slow.

"I wouldn't trust everything you hear, but I wouldn't go there if I were you, not if you can help it," she shrugged a little and looked askance. "Most of the things you'll hear about their niece is made up, but the family is… Vernon is a director at a company and has expensive company cars and likes to show them off. Dudley has a gang in the neighborhood, he's very fat but they still help him beat up other kids, though everyone kind of turns a blind eye, dunno why. Petunia… she's a house wife. She's proud of the state of her house, family and garden." Large portions of which, at least in summer, Hadley was the one to deal with.

There was a light thud that made Hadley jump, only to realize it was because Harry had tossed his book to the ground. He slowly managed to climb down from the tree, legs feeling out branches as he went before dropping the last five feet or so and landing beside the book in question, which he then picked up and dusted off. The back cover, which had a picture of a dragon on it, had a small dent in it from the collision with the roots at the bottom of the tree. Now that they were on equal footing, she realized he was rather short for the age his face portrayed, her eyes level with his nose, and his frame was nearly as thin as the frames of his glasses. Not literally perhaps, but he was certainly wispy in body.

"I'm sorry, I'm not used to people of late," he sighed. "Thank you for understanding. Could you help me find their house then, if you won't let me treat you to lunch? Number 4, Privet Drive is the address I have. I lost my street map somewhere, or maybe I left it in my motel room, and I've gotten lost twice already this morning before I went to this park."

"Well… alright," Hadley nodded finally. Not used to people? How weird. But if he hadn't done anything nefarious yet, when they were alone and just outside of hearing range of the play structure, she doubted he would do anything before she took him to where her "family" lived. And apparently he was family too. But, then, that word didn't mean much to Hadley. "This way then."

She didn't lead him back through the part of the park with the field, in case Dudley was still there or someone decided to spread more rumors about her doing things with older boys in the forest. Leading him to Magnolia Crescent and the shortcut there to Privet Drive, Hadley directed him towards the house where she lived, though she had decided he would not learn that that was the case. He was a loopy muggle probably on funny medications, and aunt Petunia could deal with him. Even if he was related, there was something off about him.

It was just her luck that, as they arrived, Hadley noticed Vernon was exiting his latest expensive company car, apparently home for lunch. It would surprise her if that was why Petunia had wanted her gone for the day, and why Dudley wasn't home either, if Vernon was there for more than just a meal.

She shuddered but managed to not make a face at the terrible thought.

It was too late for Hadley to just leave, and Vernon saw their approach as he slammed the door shut.

"Girl! What are you doing? Whoring yourself around again?" His scowl was as impressive as his mustache as he strode quickly down the sidewalk. Hadley knew she couldn't run. "Boy, you'd best not be seen around this girl, we've got her in the finest girls' reform school and she's a menace there too." He was eyeing Harry in a way that stated rather clearly that he didn't expect much better from a boy with a rock star's haircut. A moment later he reached them and grabbed Hadley by the arm, wrenching her toward the house.

She winced at the tight grip. At least she didn't bruise easily. For all she was undernourished and even a bit brittle boned – or had been until her first dose of Skele-Gro – she had never bruised easily, which was both a blessing for her self-image and a curse for any chance someone else might notice her rough handling.

"Sir? Are you Vernon Dursley? So she must be Hadley Potter?" Harry, Hadley realized, was keeping pace and made to block them as they approached the drive. "Sir, I strongly suggest you let her go now. I really do. In our world she's famous. If anyone ever found out you're daring to touch her, you won't survive a week."

Vernon stopped and stared. "Your wo- you're one of _them_?" His scowl from earlier came back and actually managed to outshine his dark moustache this time. Any chance that he was going to play nice with his new nephew was gone.

Meanwhile, Hadley's thoughts were reeling. Her world? He was a wizard? She had a maternal relative who was magic? Never mind the weird coincidence that he was a Potter too, he was a wizard. Or maybe a squib, but probably a wizard. And he was trying to be reasonable with the Dursleys. And he _hadn't_ immediately recognized her as the Girl-Who-Lived, or maybe he had, but she didn't think so. So far there hadn't been any pictures of her in the news but for the one with Lockhart, and she felt she had grown up a lot in those two years.

She realized, belatedly, that Vernon was trying to pull her past Harry, now nearly level with the garage door as they hit the walk to the front door, that they were still talking over her lost concentration, and the grip on her arm was a lot firmer than before, enough to _really_ hurt.

But what could she do? If she resisted, she'd get worse later – she was already going to get worse now that the Dursleys would think she was bringing strange wizards home with her – and if she didn't, at this rate her arm might be wrenched from the socket.

In the end, the decision was out of her hands.

"You're hurting her!" Until that point Harry's voice had been the calm counterpoint to Vernon's, but this outcry not only broke that trend, but seemed to snap Vernon out of himself. He let go of her arm like it was on fire and looked around to see if any neighbors had noticed the altercation. Mrs Number Six next door ducked behind her hedges, but Hadley knew Vernon noticed. The she had caught herself on the side of the garage was the only reason she was up high enough to have seen it, but Vernon was a good six feet tall and would have a far superior vantage point by comparison. He had certainly seen.

It would take some real work to clear themselves with the neighbors again, and Vernon knew it. His eyes darted from Harry to Hadley, thinking.

"Give me five minutes to talk to Hadley sir, and after that I won't take more than a minute of your time," Harry was calm again, his voice flat, but there was something about him that said if Vernon didn't give into his wishes, it wouldn't matter that Harry was short and skinny for a man, he would do something. Something "freakish".

Vernon shoved past the younger man before him and slammed the door behind him. Hadley could hear him shouting for Petunia as his steps thudded away.

Hadley looked at Harry, and swallowed. "Are you really related to me, or is this some ploy to get alone time with a… celebrity?" It was entirely possible, she knew. She led him round the side of the house, so they could hide behind the privet hedges from prying neighbors and still be within ear shot if Vernon demanded Hadley's presence. She leaned against the pale blue siding of the house as she worked on massaging feeling back into her shoulder.

"We really are related," Harry nodded, "and only maternally, I promise. Potter is a common name, no one on that side of my family is 'one of us'." He added air quotes, she supposed rather than admitting magic existed where the neighbors might hear. Smart. "I'm halfblood, Mum was one too, and her Mum was from a pureblood family. I really didn't know it was you I'd run into at the park, thought you were just a local girl who liked cross country running or some such."

"Why did you come here then? If you heard all these terrible stories about our… family, why did you come here?" Was it for her? Because he had a famous cousin, he wanted in on the spotlight or something?

"You, obviously, though I did want to see what Mum's little sister was like," he looked off to the side. "My parents were killed in '79, my dad's brother said it was a terrorist bombing, but it turns out it was from dark wizards. And I guess the idea of blood family that weren't from dad's side sounded nice. They aren't nice people. But I… something told me I had to go to Gringotts. Last week, on my eighteenth birthday. So I did, and I found out that even though Grandmum's family disowned her, she was re-inherited in their will. Except with her dead, and Mum dead, it went to me. And I got to learn the truth behind my Mum's history, who her dad was, and that there were half sisters, one a witch and one not, and the witch daughter was the mum of the famous Hadley Potter. It was all this crazy coincidence, y'know?"

"And you came to Surrey," Hadley frowned. Harry really did talk too much, too freely, but… it all made sense in an odd way. She'd never met Petunia's parents, but there were photos of Briar Evans here and there, and Harry certainly shared some traits. Like his eyes, Lily's eyes, Hadley's eyes.

And last year, Professor McGonagall had had a private talk with the girls about magical inheritances, mostly because girls often had them sooner than boys, around the same time they started to bleed being the earliest. Lots of weird things could happen at the time of inheritance, sometimes people had urges or learned they had some sort of skill, and the professor had admitted that that was often when Seers discovered what they were.

Of course, the later the inheritance, the more powerful the wizard. Even strong wizards had their inheritance by the age of 17, so she supposed her cousin must be stronger than most, magically speaking.

"I was hoping that maybe I'd have some blood relatives who were decent folk, and then I hoped that behind the rumors that they weren't all bad, and maybe you grew up better than I did, I guess," he shuffled a bit. "I don't… Seeing Mr Dursley, I don't think you did, did you? I know you don't know me. And I'm only eighteen, so it's kind of weird for me too. But I don't like seeing family like this. I was your age when I got away, went to live with my tutor. And I know this is really sudden, but do you want to do the same? Get away from here I mean."

Hadley stared at him. It had been just under two months since the only other time she had received such an offer, from her own godfather, only to have it ripped away. And hadn't she been thinking before about how terrible her family was?

This man was apparently family, or so he claimed, and there was something very sincere about him.

"I can't, there are… Professor Dumbledore said there are blood wards," Hadley shuffled a bit. Hopefully they wouldn't wear a bald spot in the lawn, or the Dursleys would have her head. "I have to come here for summers, so that I can have a protection from Voldemort. When I was eleven it saved my life, so I don't…" She didn't know him, didn't trust him, but there was potential for it to be better than the Dursleys, wasn't there?

"Blood wards are wards anchored in blood, that find security in shared blood," Harry told her after a moment of thinking. "That means the protection was based on your mother, if her sister or nephew are keeping you safe. My blood connection might be enough, too?" For all he wasn't terribly emotive, Hadley could see he had a bit of hope. Maybe he was like her. Maybe he just wanted some family.

Maybe she was totally losing it, because there was no way this could be a good idea.

"I don't even know that you're telling the truth, I don't know that you're family," she shook her head. Dumbledore would have known if she had family other than the Dursleys and put her with them, wouldn't he? Though from how he talked it sounded like his family wasn't the best sort of people either, surely having an ally would be better than living with the Dursleys! Wouldn't it? Dumbledore would have known there was an alternative, and so she didn't _want_ to believe.

"There are spells, but you're underage so the Trace…" He trailed off, but Hadley's brow furrowed.

"Trace?"

"You don't know about the… well, I guess not. I've heard Hogwarts sends a representative to muggleborn students to explain it, but since you aren't muggleborn, just muggle raised they might not have," Harry shuffled his feet and looked askance. "It's how they tell if students do magic outside of school. I had to go to the Ministry earlier this week, and I heard something about you getting a black mark your first summer?"

"But that wasn't me, it was a house-elf!" Hadley was more than ready to defend herself on that one. It wasn't her fault that Dobby wanted her expelled!

"Exactly! That's the downfall of the Trace. It's meant to track all students who do magic out of school, but all it really does is detect the magic around them. It can't tell the difference between you casting a first year spell or a house-elf casting it, let alone a pureblood child and parent. So any magical children living in a magical household aren't even tracked unless they are detected doing it too far from home. That's why I can't use any of the spells to prove I'm who I am, because the Ministry will you think you did it."

Hadley realized then the volume with which they spoke, and the loss of the delicacy of their speech. She glanced around, but even Mrs Number 6 had gone back inside as she could see the woman dealing with her three rowdy sons through a window. Punishment averted, hopefully.

"It's okay, the blood wards aren't the only ones here, I can tell," Harry spoke again, drawing Hadley's attention away. "You're worried about people listening, right? There's… I can feel it, a ward that tries to make people ignore this house when there's anything odd, even just conversation."

"Oh," Hadley relaxed a little but still tried to remember that just because they wouldn't be overheard by neighbors, that didn't mean that her aunt and uncle wouldn't either. She could still hear their raised voices from somewhere inside, after all.

"Look, I don't really know how to prove I am who I say I am without going somewhere more magic, unless you want me to put another black mark on your record," Harry's hand raised to rub the back of his neck. "But after what happened a few minutes ago, I don't think you want to be here in an hour or two either. I have a room at a motel near the train station but that sounds creepy, I'm sure. I don't know what will make you trust me. All I can do is offer to get you out of here."

And from there, it was all a leap of faith. Hadley would not know for some time how well or misplaced that faith would be.

**Author's Note: As it says up top, this is a rewrite of a fic I tried writing about 4 years ago on my previous account With a Midnight Smile (I just discovered I cannot sign in. I must have stopped using whatever email that account went to. So... yeah). Except, y'know, better. Among the list of things that I did wrong with the original were the following: Too much bashing, typical bashing methods of the genre (Weasleys and Dumbledore taking money, compulsions, etc), Harry too involved/knowledgeable, overpowering, underpowering, overestimating, excessive gender swaps… the list goes on. So, really, I want to do this one much better. I'm actually keeping notes on it too, I have an outline and detailed notes on certain concepts, though the outline is a bit fuzzy on 5th year. We'll see.**

**On that note, I do not like Ginny and Ron. I really don't. In fact, I don't think I've written either of them in a fic since the original iteration of this one (sort of, they were gender bent and renamed and rather different). But they will have to be in this story, and I will do them justice. Just because I don't like Ginny doesn't mean I will make her the castle bike. Just because I think Ron is a prat doesn't mean he's being paid to be Hadley's friend.**

**Just because I'm going to be fair to them doesn't mean I have to make everything all hunky dory.**

**Regarding my choice of the name "Hadley" for fem!Harry, Harry is a traditional British name, common and simple. It means "leader of armies". Obviously you won't get a name meaning like that for girls, so I wanted to go with a common British name, but sticking with the Evans flower theme (as I did with Harry's "mother" Camellia and their grandfather Briar (I had a lot of options for him actually, but Briar Evans sounded best)), Hadley meaning "field of heather". ****A lot of people like to give Harry the name "Hadrian", and I've seen Hadriana for girl Harry once, saying Harry is just a nickname. Hadrian means "from the city of Hadria, Italy." I think a name like Harry has more character than that, thanks, and Hadley too.**

**I can tell I haven't written much fanfic on this computer because it doesn't know the word muggle. Or Voldemort. Obviously I need to remedy this… 2 years after I got it…**

**Doodled Hadley and Harry. It's on da. I AM SO PROUD OF HADLEY'S NOSE. I GAVE HER A REALLY PRETTY NOSE GUYS.**

**Finally: This is my 42****nd**** story on this account. Booyah.**


	2. The Feeling of Feeling

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Joanne Kathleen Rowling and associates, of whom I am not one. This is a rewrite of a fic from 4 years ago.

Warnings: AU, mentions of child abuse, ongoing theme of drug abuse, some character bashing (but only such that it follows canon and canon trends), spoilers through Deathly Hallows, coarse language, some minor OCs.

Chapter 2: The Feeling of Feeling

"You can't win, Voldemort," Harry held his wand leveled at the dark wizard before him. Playing dead for the past twenty minutes or so had given him time to think, to realize, and he knew what had to happen. He had died not half an hour ago.

It was Voldemort's turn.

"What makes you so sure, Potter? We stand in a hall of the dead, and you think you can escape here alive?" Voldemort's face was as pale as any albino, his eyes redder, his fingers bone thin as they caressed the light wood of his latest wand. Elder, ten and a half inches, and a core of Thestral tail hair. The Elder wand. The Death Stick. What was possibly the most powerful of all the Death Hallows, and Voldemort had it in his grasp. Had already killed Harry with it once before. "Is it the weapon Dumbledore always knew you had in you? Is it _love_?"

"No, no it's not," Harry's face remained blank, ever surrounded b the murmurings of the witches and wizards in the hall. They had been fighting a moment ago, some still were, and the Great Hall really was, as Voldemort put it, a Hall of the Dead now. There were as many people dead as alive, and many of those living were injured in ways that would take their lives.

Harry could see the corpses of many redheads scattered about the floor, Arthur slumped over Fred's corpse as he tried to protect it, Percy and Molly side by side on the far end, George part of a pile of the dead facing down three recent Slytherin graduates who moved as one. Of the Weasleys, only Bill, Ron, and Ginny remaining to fight on. Neville was still panting over the dead bodies of Nagini and the Lestranges, sword of Gryffindor in hand, Luna and Seamus having helped take them down, only to be hit by barely nonlethal friendly fire.

Everywhere there were dead people, dead people Harry knew, and it was his fault. His fault his fault, _all his fault_ and –

His free hand reached into his robe pocket, watching Voldemort tense up as he pulled the pale blue potion from the folds. He popped the cork with his teeth and downed the phial, dropped the crystal back into his pocket.

Everything was going to be okay.

"No, Voldemort, love is not what makes me able to kill you," Harry's smile was empty. "The answer is simpler than you think. Severus Snape." Harry moved.

Again the hall was filled with spell fire, but from two wands rather than the hundreds that had previously been engaged in battle. There was an unspoken oath in the crowd, an acknowledgement that this was the only battle that mattered, a battle of proxies. Whoever prevailed, whichever side had the champion that survived this fight, they would be the winner. So Magic told every person in the room. After this fight, there was no more war.

In the past century, this had happened only once before, in the battle between Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald, though it was Dumbledore's inability to kill his old love that made the resurgence of the anti-muggle movement come so soon.

To Harry, the answer to everything was simple. It was Severus Snape who overheard the prophecy and brought it to Voldemort. It was Severus Snape who wrote in the book Harry used for Potions after his OWL year, teaching him spells and theories he would have taken years to puzzle out equivalents to on his own. It was Severus Snape who had killed Albus Dumbledore less than a year ago. It was Severus Snape Voldemort had killed less than two hours ago to gain mastery of the Elder Wand.

It was Severus Snape, ex-Headmaster, Potion's Master, and Head of Slytherin House that was the key to Voldemort's downfall.

A minute later, both wizards still stood, wands pointed at each others' hearts from six paces. Voldemort's scowl was deeper than before, a single slice in his robe showing a slow ooze of blood down his arm. If anything, Harry was in worse shape, but bearing a smirk as empty as his smile before.

"Severus Snape didn't defeat Albus Dumbledore, he just killed him," Harry's grin was manic under dead eyes. Cold confidence coursed through his veins, but under that was his want, his desire, that Voldemort know fear before he died. And if there was anything Voldemort feared as much as death, Harry thought it might be the mirror to his own madness bringing it to him. "What you fail to understand, even as I stand before you, less than an hour after your killing curse hit me dead on, is that _there is a difference_."

As if on a cue, Harry Potter, a seventeen year old wizard who had not yet even sat his NEWTs, and Tom Marvolo Riddle, alias Voldemort, a wizard of 73 years whose accomplishments dwarfed what most men dreamed of, raised their wands in shouts.

It was a true battle of ideals when one shot only a simple disarming curse as his final spell of the duel up against the powerful green wave of the Avada Kedavra.

When Voldemort slumped to the ground, dead as a doornail and Harry fell to his knees, gasping for breath, a cheer rose up in the remaining "Light" fighters. The Death Stick rolled toward him, bumping against his dominant hand, waiting to be claimed as Hermione, Ron and Ginny ran toward him. The adults could deal with rounding up the remaining Death Eaters. The adults could make everything better that Harry hadn't.

Never mind that Ron and Ginny were now orphans, they hadn't seen their parents corpses yet, they didn't know. Ron was pulling Harry to his feet, clapping him on the back, seemingly oblivious to the new wand in Harry's hand, and Ginny was looking up at him with a starry gaze, but he did not respond.

In the case of Ron, because it would be too cruel to tell him precisely why his mother wasn't going to make them a victory feast. To Ginny… well, he knew she never gave up on him, but how could he date her when he couldn't _feel_ anything?

When not feeling was the only reason he had survived this long?

"I'm fine, I can stand, really, I-" A flash of dark purple can from the side and Harry moved backwards only to have Ron dive in the way regardless. A scream broke out – not Ron's, no, the curse had struck his throat and burned through his neck, cauterizing the wound before any blood could splatter – but from the caster of the curse. Magic burned in him and tore itself away for defying the result of the Champion's Duel.

No other Death Eater dared to put up a fight at the sight of that grizzly death, while Hermione and Ginny cried over the body of the dead ginger. Harry wished he could do the same, then recalled why he could not and redacted the sentiment. If he could, he would drown, he was certain.

Better to feel nothing at all, he knew.

* * *

The war had ended a month ago. It seemed the Death Eater trials never ended. Harry's presence had only been required at one – that of the Malfoy family, because they claimed he would save them, which he did, with the exception of Lucius – but he attended many more than that. As a surprise witness to cement a Kissing, or to provide evidence that certain Death Eaters had actually been feeding information to Severus Snape and other recognized spies to lighten their sentence.

Harry was getting tired, and bored, but this was nothing new. Professor McGonagall had given him, Hermione, and Ginny permission to stay at the school, though Ginny had not taken the offer in favor of staying at Shell Cottage with her oldest brother. The school was giving everyone the option to retake the past year due to the horrible things that had happened to mitigate the learning in Hogwarts' halls but had called an early end to the year so everyone could go home to mourn or celebrate. Any students not wanting to repeat their year would be taking a Ministry organized test during the summer; many students agreed they could stand an extra year of schooling, especially the OWL and NEWT students.

Of course, Harry had no home to go to, so even though he wasn't going to be attending Hogwarts for another year he was staying there. For now. The Dursleys' house had never been home to him, and Grimmauld Place had been razed when the Death Eaters got to it. The Burrow was abandoned. Shell Cottage would only raise bad memories with the people living there.

He could get a flat somewhere, he supposed, but everything was so busy. It wasn't just trials going on, after all. There had been many funerals. The mass funeral for the Weasleys, of whom only Bill, Charlie (who had been apparently stunned outside and not brought in before the battle resumed indoors) and Ginny survived, had been depressing, but it could have been worse. It was for most people.

Harry twirled a crystal phial filled with a half translucent liquid and sighed. There was no questioning it now. He couldn't upgrade his dosage anymore without, well, overdosing. He needed something better, something stronger, which was why he once again had the potions book of Severus Snape, the Half-Blood Prince, set in his lap.

"Too strong," he murmured as his eyes flitted over the description of the Draught of Peace. It would be like going straight from a mild sedative to horse tranquilizers, his body would not be able to handle regular dosages. At this rate he would have to try and invent his own potion. The book had taught him more by the scribbling on its pages than the Hogwarts Potions Master's real lessons ever had, true, but he didn't think he was prepared for any actual experimentation.

Especially if the only test subject available was himself.

The worry niggling him was the trigger Harry needed and he popped the cork with his teeth, dropped that into his lap as his off-hand flipped pages in the Emotion Alteration section of the text. His eyes skimmed for keywords as he took his calming draught as fast as a shot. Much better.

It had been two years now since he started taking calming draughts. It hadn't been his first choice in potion, but it was the one he was provided the best instruction for. It was the first time he had ever seen Snape in a… less negative light, he supposed. Even knowing what he did now, he couldn't see Snape as having been a model human being, but he was… not the git Harry thought he'd been. No, he had been no such thing.

It started when Harry was fifteen. Sirius was dead. Sirius was dead, had died in front of Harry's own eyes, and it was his own fault. He'd been stupid, letting fear and anger lead him, and now he couldn't stop crying at the loss of the only person who loved him for him, and raging at himself, beating himself down over it.

He had no _right_ to be sad. The guilt he deserved, and every mental argument he had with himself, every hateful thing his brain came up with, he deserved that too. Because he was less than human, and no matter what Dumbledore said, no amount of love or "human" emotion could make up for that.

He was _scum_.

But scum or not, the last days before the end of term and after the end of OWLs were hell, and Ron and Hermione were trying to get him help, to get over Sirius' death. He didn't need help! He didn't deserve help!

What he needed was an escape. What he deserved, as a subhuman freak, was to truly be subhuman, in a way even Dumbledore could recognize.

At first he wanted just to get rid of the dreams, but Madame Pomfrey wouldn't give him Dreamless Sleep. Healers were the only ones with the rights to distribute it. And that potion was far too complex for him to brew. It was post-NEWT level work, and he had only just scraped through OWLs days before. Even if he did do well enough on his own to get into the NEWT classes, he doubted he would ever have the skill to brew that particular potion.

So he did the next best thing and the night before leaving Hogwarts he donned his invisibility cloak and snuck down to the Dungeons and Professor Snape's office. The traps were easy to remove. Odd, he realized, when he could remember Snape grousing about it late in the halls the night he was nearly caught on his way back from the Prefect baths, when Barty Crouch Jr tricked him into lending out the Map. But Harry had assumed it was just because it was the end of term, that Snape was relaxing his normally tight security due to the distinct lack of Weasley twins.

He hadn't noticed the simple tripwire spell that triggered when he entered, alerting the Professor to the intrusion. He simply walked over to the storage room between the office and the classroom and starting searching.

The shifting of shadows as another lumos spell approached was Harry's only warning as the invisibility cloak was whipped off of him.

Snape had stood over him, menacing and snide as always. Harry couldn't remember the exact conversation, but he could recall the gist of it. Snape wanted to know why he was there, and Harry refused to answer. He dug at Harry's fresh wounds until Harry started yelling. It was only exhaustion that stopped him from bringing up a storm of accidental magic to destroy all the phials around him in a whip of energy. And through the tirade, Snape only watched him, and when he seemed about to boil over the Potions Master used a simple wave of his wand to stick Harry's tongue to the roof of his mouth. While Harry gagged on his own spit, Snape went to a cupboard on the other side of the room, the one that Snape sent students who forgot their books too with a call of "5 points" behind them, and pulled out a battered old potions book.

"Page ninety-three," was all he said before removing the spell from Harry. "Now get out of my sight."

Harry had obliged, covering himself with the cloak and running away once more.

But page 93 wasn't enough anymore. Harry needed more. As it was, he needed a calming potion every hour, or less if the situation was stressful enough. The slightest decrease in levels of the potion in his system could lead to a full on melt down. He couldn't sleep. He rarely ingested anything other than potions, simply because there was no room in his body for anything else. And if he didn't change that soon, he wouldn't be able to hide the changes to his body.

Already any muscle mass he might have had was eating itself. There was never much excess on him to begin with, but soon the lack would be noticeable.

He needed a stronger potion. But not the Draught of Peace. That would be for much later stages in his addiction, if he survived so long as that.

Harry could attribute a lot of things to his dependency on calming draughts, both good and bad. He wouldn't have bothered to understand potions if it hadn't been for the textbook Snape had shoved into his hands, and even then he might not have really thought about it if he'd had his worries and fears running through his head in sixth year. He didn't have the same skill his mum had, he thought, because in stories Slughorn told him she was a natural. Harry only knew anything because of Snape's notes in the old book.

A bad thing was that, that same year, Harry had noticed Draco behaving oddly. He was fairly certain that, if he hadn't been drowning in calming potions, he would have actually been curious about that. Or maybe cared a bit more when he almost killed Draco in Myrtle's bathroom.

Or realized Ginny was trying to make him jealous all year. If he'd known that, he would have been a lot less surprised when she tried to snog him in the middle of the common room, he probably wouldn't have just stared at her blankly and said "sorry?" at the time, at any rate.

It made him more aware when Dumbledore told him of his inheritance from Sirius of course, meaning Harry bothered to find out what that was by going to Gringotts. He got a summary of the amounts of money and anything else he inherited, finding that included Head of House status. He didn't ask what that meant though.

Strangely, his potion addiction proved an advantage when dealing with Horace Slughorn. The man had thought, somehow, that Harry's state was his fault and given up his memory of Tom Riddle without any issue. His felix felicis won earlier in that year was used entirely on keeping his friends safe during the assault on Hogwarts.

But it didn't make watching Dumbledore barely holding himself from falling off the Astronomy tower with his one good arm any easier. His potion had worn off, and he was nearing his breaking point when Snape killed the man and he had to watch the arm buckle and drop Dumbledore over the edge entirely. It was blind rage that drove him the next ten minutes, and desperation for his calm the next hour until he could return to his dormitory.

It was a horrible way to live, but he had to, didn't he? Because without the potion he would be dead now. How did anyone live with so much emotion bottled up inside them?

He paused in his thoughts. The Serenity looked promising. The effects weren't quite the same as the calming potion, it wouldn't let him keep his cold, calm confidence of the past two years, but instead listed the effect of tamping down on stress response and transforming turbulent emotions into calming ones. It was better than nothing and better than too much. The description even listed a healer's warning that it was often a stage following calming potions on common potion addictions.

Eyes passing through Snape's notes, Harry nodded to himself. This could work, on a trial basis. He might still suffer some withdrawal symptoms, in the first days, but his heart wasn't going to stop from having too much calm, and he would live. That was all that the wizarding world needed him for now, was to live and give them confidence that he _had_ defeated Voldemort.

The daily reminders of the death of most anyone he cared for was killing him though.

Hogwarts' halls held memories of death, and the damage to the school itself held ever more reminders. But Harry couldn't bring himself to leave. He couldn't go get a flat, not right now, and Hermione would never let him anyway. She watched him like a hawk.

There had been no hiding his potions from her when they started hunting horcruxes. Hermione had never approved, but she hadn't stopped him either. Withdrawals when they were trying to save the world had been a bad idea, but now that the war was over? It was a miracle Harry had a moment to himself to take his much needed doses.

He needed an escape he couldn't get. It was maddening.

Harry slowly closed the book, dog-earing the page for future perusal, and set it in his bag on the floor. The scrolls he used for his personal notes were shrunk and put in a small container, packed into a secondary compartment of the book bag. He slung the bag over his shoulder and left, taking some small comfort in the old ritual, even if he did not undergo it alone in the past.

Who would have thought that hiding from Hermione in the library would prove so effective? She would be kicking herself if she knew.

Eyes idly tracking his progress on the Marauders' map, he noted that Professor McGonagall was in the kitchens, probably giving orders to the house-elves. Harry made a moment's decision to take a left at the corner he should have taken a right at and jogged up a flight of stairs that was only there on Tuesdays and Fridays. Five more rights and he passed down the same hall twice, somehow arriving three floors below.

The gargoyle standing before the entrance to the Headmaster's office was hunched, waiting, as Harry approached.

He gave the same password he had given months ago and took the spiral staircase up to the office uninvited. McGonagall hadn't moved in yet, though she spent considerable time in the office trying to make heads and tails of what had to be done to make the next year at Hogwarts _happen_. Snape had done what he could, but Voldemort's reach had been long.

The door opened without him knocking. The room still held hints of Snape's personality, and the portrait of the man on the walls didn't help. The school governors had attempted to have it removed, but Hogwarts put up portraits of all the Headmasters she recognized upon their death, whether other parties agreed or not.

Snape dozed in his frame, but Dumbledore was awake and watching.

"Sir," Harry acknowledged the portrait. He kept his eyes away from Snape, not wanting to face whatever emotions that might bring up. He couldn't take another calming potion for another hour or so if he didn't want to run the risk of permanent damage.

"Mr Potter," the blue eyes failed to twinkle behind the half-moon glasses. On the desk in front of him was a painted version of the same wand currently in Harry's back pocket. Harry wasn't sure how to say what he meant to, and so he waited; the portrait sighed. "Harry, I believe I know why you have come here. And before you accuse me of anything, I would like to remind you that portraits are not people. I do not remember the life of Albus Dumbledore, only the things he thought important enough to give to Hogwarts during his tenure here.

"That said… knowing the grave nature of your task one month ago, I imagine I do know the answer to what you want to ask. You want to know why I wanted you to die, don't you?"

"No sir," Harry seated himself in the comfortable chair across from the desk. It was not the chair he had seen there when he invaded after Snape's desk. "When I died, I saw you, and you explained it, or else my mind made up a passable enough reason. I accepted it, I don't need anymore closure on that. My question is a different sort of why. Why did it end the way it did? Why did those closest to me have to be the ones who died?"

There was something in him that screamed Dumbledore knew. Dumbledore had to know. Dumbledore knew why more of the bodies had been people Harry cared for than not. Even Colin Creevey had died, of all people!

"There were… Harry, I did things in my life, things I am not proud of, and you know of some of those things, the ones early on in my career, the ones when I was only as old as you are now," the deceased Headmaster was settled back in his high-backed chair, looking pensive. "It is the mistakes later in my life that you wish to know of. Ones that I did let Hogwarts know of, so that if need be my portrait could blacken my own name to free those who were acting only under my own direction. At the time I had believed they were for the greater good. By the time I realized that the greater good could handle itself without my meddling, it was too late.

"Imperius is not the only way to control people, Harry. Emotions and minor compulsions can shape an entire relationship. In the case of your aunt, I infused a charm in my letter to her, when she first took you, that would increase whatever feelings she had for her sister and transplant them into you. I had believed, at the time, that those feelings she had for sister were concern for a dangerous world and love for the girl who was thrust into it, expressed as frustration. I was mistaken, and I apologize for what that did to you, though the spell's effects were more likely minor. If I had not used that particular spell, your treatment at her hands may not have been much, if any, better. When I realized, the spell was integrated into her perfectly, it could not be removed without possibly killing her.

"I used similar spells on other people, to make them more willing to sacrifice themselves to keep you safe. I needed you to live long enough to die. I only know the deaths of those Minerva told me, but I can say a good half of those I charmed sacrificed themselves for you. It was never my intention that so many should die."

"But they did," Harry left the words he most wanted to say unspoken. It was Dumbledore's fault. Not his. Knowing that that would perhaps keep him a bit closer to sane, a bit less likely that his emotions would overwhelm his calming potions. But either way he had the recipe for Serenity Solution in his bag, ready to be brewed if he was to need it, which he would.

"I must apologize for your current condition as well," the old man in the portrait sighed. Harry's gaze glued to his in an instant. "I had thought that by amplifying your emotions, your connections to your friends and love of the wizarding world, I could ensure you would keep to your duty. I had not thought of the fact that it would amplify all your darker emotions, your sorrow, your anger, your guilt. For that I apologize."

Dumbledore… was responsible for his addiction then. He could feel his heart beating just a little faster, the rage itching under his skin, but the potion in his veins cut it off quickly, his heart rate settling and his mind as clear as ever. Dumbledore's influence was deep then. He wondered at why the Dumbledore at the train station hadn't told him, but came up with a multitude of reasons. If it had been real, Dumbledore might have not wanted him to go into life again in rage, or else worried that Harry would forsake the wizarding world. After all, in that dead place Harry had not had his potion, his soul or whatever was not _calm_. For those few minutes he had felt, and he had known what it was like to feel again, what he would feel if he felt again.

Merlin, he hated the feeling of feeling.

"Can that be removed? Or is that spell too old, too?" Harry almost thought he heard a twist of spite in his words, but dismissed it.

"It was placed in your fourth year, after Mr Weasley made amends," Dumbledore sighed. "I thought that increased feeling of relief at the time would help cement your friendship and make you more steady for the coming tasks. Spells involving even one emotion tie in to you quickly. As this one amplified all of your emotions, your mind took it permanently before the time of the Yule Ball. I am truly sorry, my boy."

Harry only nodded, unsure what to say. The Headmaster had given him a lot to think about in the past few minutes. He glanced at the Marauder's Map in his hands, noticing that McGonagall was on her way back upstairs.

"I'll be back, sir," Harry called over his shoulder as he departed. "This isn't the end of things."

* * *

And so it was not. Harry visited again the next day after he had been shopping for ingredients for Serenity Solution. Professor McGonagall had assured him that, "were Pomona alive, she would not protest you making use of the greenhouses," and the elves currently tending it certainly wouldn't, but Harry had no shortage of money and Hogwarts needed all it could get to straighten itself out this summer.

The Headmaster asked him odd questions on his second visit. How he was feeling, if seeing Hogwarts whole would hurt him less than the scorch marks on the walls, if he had the option, would he rather live as he was with many of his close people dead, or to find them all alive but not knowing him? Obviously he would rather they were alive. If they didn't know him he would just meet them again. But it was against the laws of time itself for that to happen, no amount of time travel could fix that.

The painting's eyes had twinkled, and he nodded, but told Harry to come again on the twenty-fourth with everything he felt he would need.

And so for three weeks Harry wondered what the old portrait was doing, though he dutifully followed orders. In that time he underwent his switch from calming potion to Serenity Solution. It was a horrific ordeal, he had to purge his body of the calming potion with a day of cleansing potions. His emotions were so strong that it hurt to think, but he couldn't just sleep it away. After ten hours he was glad to down his potion, to feel his heart slow, his mind cool, is cheeks dry. He had been so broken at the end of it that he slept for the rest of the day and night, waking the next morning feeling at peace.

The effect that that had on him was noticeable. Hermione commented on it, asking if he was alright. He seemed less confident, she said, but less dead too. He was _serene_, a soft smile on the corners of his mouth.

She did notice that he was no longer drinking pale blue potions every couple of hours and congratulated him on working on his addiction.

She did not notice the soft yellow potion he took with his pumpkin juice at dinner.

In addition to brewing potions, Harry studied, trying to figure out what Dumbledore meant to happen, but he couldn't find anything in the Hogwarts library that would reveal the portrait's plan. A week before Dumbledore's given date, he went to Gringotts to empty his vaults. He felt he might have done so anyway, knowing the goblins weren't to be trusted, but had to admit that he had gone into the arrangement planning to deceive them and not the other way around.

It turned out that closing an account at Gringotts was more complex than just withdrawing all his funds. He had more than just his trust vault from his parents it seemed. Sirius's account, and all the vaults of dead branches of the Black family, were now his as the Head, which apparently meant something beyond being the oldest male adult. If he wanted to, he could annul the marriage of any woman in the family, even Bellatrix's, he could change anything he wanted about the family. Instead, he ignored the power - even Bellatrix didn't deserve to, say, be stricken off of the family tapestry. No, he focused on the money, something he'd ignored since he was eleven. Most of those vaults were empty of course, unless they held heirloom vaults full of dark objects like the Lestranges had. That one was his too, since Neville had made the family extinct.

He ended up taking enough gold to live off of for about ten years if he lived modestly, or so Grabsnatch the goblin said, directing for the rest to be anonymously donated to the Hogwarts vault and the Muggleborn Reparations Charity being held by the Ministry to help the prosecuted muggleborn witches and wizards of Britain back on their feet.

If Harry couldn't get himself on his feet with ten years worth of funds, then he was obviously a useless celebrity of Lockhart's caliber.

The coins were placed in a bag he asked Hermione to charm bottomless for him. He said it was his "just in case" bag, if anything happened and he needed to whisk all his things away at once. She found it pragmatic, though she chastised him for always refusing the offer when they had been on the run.

At the end of it all, Harry was ready for whatever the portrait had in mind for him. He had effectively blocked the memory of his purge from weeks before, and with a supply of potions and money in his old school bag he pulled himself toward the office while he knew McGonagall would be away at a meeting. The door lacked any sort of creak to make things more suspenseful, so Harry entered without any sort of appropriate drama.

Seated on the back of the Headmistresses seat was a familiar phoenix, crooning at Dumbledore's portrait. Snape's portrait watched on, lips tight.

Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling. "Go."

Before Harry could react, throw his arms up to defend himself, _anything_, Fawkes flew at him, roosting on his shoulder. The claws dug in tightly, but the wings did not close, leaving all Harry could see to be the brilliant plumage of the bird in question.

Then everything was fire, and he was gone.

**Author's Note: All of a sudden, while writing this chapter, I decided that this chapter is a sort of sequel to Broken Past. Which I haven't written yet. But now that I have decided to tie them together, that's that. Broken Past will be a 3shot and, since the important twist will be in the summary, I have no trouble informing you lot that in Broken Past, Severus Snape is Harry Potter. That's all you need to know to understand this chapter, really. The reason for this decision is both the first section (with Harry's comments about Snape - I wasn't intending it to go that way, but it did) and an idea for a scene unseen at the end that you can find below, no need to actually read if you don't want to though. ****You don't have to accept this idea as being part of the story if you don't want to, Snape in Hadley's world is Snape, not Harry, so there is really no impact at any other point in the story. Just a little background thing. Just an extra quirk in Harry's world, aside from his potions addiction, that helps make it a little different.**

"Headmaster, the boy goes off half-cocked enough as it is," snapped the most recent ex-Headmaster of Hogwarts.

"Don't you see, Severus?" The Headmaster's eyes twinkled despite his saddened features. "I destroyed him. I made Harry into something the public would never accept as their savior if they knew. Not so terrible as myself, perhaps, but terrible all the same. You saw him. But he can be saved, I'm certain. And who better to save him than himself?"

"It won't _work_ Albus," Severus pressed, but the wizened portrait would hear none of it.

"I've sent him to another world, don't you see? One where his other self hasn't been so thoroughly manipulated yet! He can save his younger self from my mistakes that have not been made, and his younger self can redeem the mistakes that were made in the past. It's perfect, Severus. Really."

"You fail to _listen_ sir, this will. Not. Work," Severus moved portraits to grab his senior by the shoulders. "I do not say this in pessimism or whatever else I am accused of. It will not work because it does not work! I tried exactly what you say Professor, and here I am dead and the boy shot off to another reality!"

Dumbledore stared at him, taking a moment to think. "You... you're... oh, oh my," Dumbledore could barely stammer before fainting dead away into his chair.

Severus Snape sighed and returned to his portrait.


	3. Blood Alone

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Joanne Kathleen Rowling and associates, of whom I am not one. This is a rewrite of a fic from 4 years ago.

Warnings: AU, mentions of child abuse, ongoing theme of drug abuse, some character bashing (but only such that it follows canon and canon trends), spoilers through Deathly Hallows, coarse language, some minor OCs.

Chapter Three: Blood Alone

Hadley lay back on her bed, staring at the dark blue ceiling of her bedroom. The walls were teal to the North and South, the same dark blue as the ceiling East and West. Her window was south facing, so if she were to spend all day in her room she could watch the sun cross it, light crawling from the toe of her bed to the head of it, but it was a four-poster like at Hogwarts so she could hide from the light if she wanted.

The flat was in a tall flat building in London, not too far from Diagon Alley, which had surprised Hadley almost as much as the muggle train they took to get there. London properties were expensive, and something about Harry indicated that, like her, he wasn't used to spending any money he didn't need to.

Not that everything in the flat had been paid for. There was a uniformness to the color of the paint in Hadley's room that indicated it, and any other non-white paint in the flat most likely, had been hit with some of the color-changing transfiguration spells she had seen upper years at Hogwarts learning. And the grain of the wood on her bedposts wasn't quite the same as the rest of the bed frame, so those were likely transfigured too. The carpets had the feel of some charms on them, to make them softer, sturdier, harder to stain.

The desk was probably from IKEA though, judging by the material and "modern" look to it. Hedwig's cage was sat on it for the moment, while the bird was out flying the city to help deal with the local rat problem most likely. Aside from the colors, the room didn't have much personality to it. Not that it looked bad, it was certainly better than her room at the Dursleys', but aside from the wrinkles she was surely leaving in the red duvet and her trunk at the foot of the bed, there was no real sign of her. Just some strange maybe-relative's idea of what she, or any guest really, might like.

_If he's too strange, if I can't trust him, the Leaky Cauldron is two tube stops away,_ she reminded herself again. It could be just like last summer, if she wanted it to be.

The call of "dinner!" from elsewhere in the flat caught her attention and Hadley scooted herself off the bed, careful to roll up the legs of her jeans again so she wouldn't trip on them. Between the bed, desk, chair, and bedside table, there wasn't much room to walk, and her trunk took up most of the space that would let her get to the closet. Maybe she could ask Harry to lengthen the legs of the bed so it could go under; as it was, the bed was a couple inches too short for that.

Narrowly avoiding smacking her elbow on the door frame as she exited, Hadley made her way out to the living area of the flat.

Perhaps she hadn't been entirely fair in her assessment of her room and the potential expense of the flat. While the bedrooms were both apparently normal for a flat, in that they were about the size of Dudley's first bedroom rather than his second, the other rooms were tiny. Harry had said, when they arrived, that he was trying to learn space enhancement charms to make at least the bathroom bigger, but for the moment things were… cramped.

Unlike Hadley's room, the rest of the apartment was done in dark reds and browns. Harry said he'd heard in muggle school once that people get hungry when they see red and brown, and he needed to eat more, or so every woman in his life had ever told him, and he'd done the flat to potentially influence him to eat more. Hadley remembered Lavender Brown, a fellow Gryffindor fourth year, mentioning that red also made things look bigger than they were, though that comment had been more of a complaint regarding the Quidditch uniforms. It was apparently harder to admire boys when they were draped in a color that made them look fat.

If that was really true though, then she had to wonder how small the walls would look without the red. The kitchen had room for only one person at a time, though since they were both thin Hadley thought she and Harry could both make a sandwich at the same time without knocking elbows too much. The tile from there extended a bit further for a small dining table and chairs to fit, though one of the three chairs was halfway onto the carpet regardless. The living room had a green couch and a brown chair and a telly that wasn't even plugged in. There was no room for a coffee table between the couch and telly, so there were transfigured cup holders in the couch's arms. The front door could barely open all the way without hitting the chair, either.

So, yes, it was a small flat, but for a wizard that didn't mean much. Or it wouldn't once Harry either figured out the space enhancement charm or got someone else to do it for him.

The box of pizza he was sitting on the dining table removed any complaint Hadley might have considered.

"So, uh, what do you do, anyway?" Hadley asked when they were seated. She'd only had pizza a couple of times before, in muggle school for class parties, and always remembered liking it more than she really did. It wasn't so bad though, because she really _did_ like pizza.

"You mean for work? Er, nothing actually," Harry scratched the back of his head. "I didn't really… I told you before I ran away a few years ago? I went to live with the guy who had been teaching me magic. He was muggleborn and gone back to the muggle world after he finished his magical education because back thirty or forty years ago it was too hard for muggleborns to get any job other than 'shop clerk'. Prejudice and all that, right? He went to uni and got a decent job in Manchester, all the bells and whistles. By the time I met him, he was retired, his wife was in a home, and his kids all moved away when they found out he was magic and they weren't.

"He taught me for six years, and I lived with him for half that time. He was like a grandfather to me, and he said he was teaching me things that might help me get auror training. A little over a year ago there was… an incident. He had this old business partner, and things went south after he retired. The other guy couldn't do everything without him. He barged in one day with a kid and a knife. My wand was in my room, I couldn't do anything but run to the neighbors to call the police. They didn't get there in time.

"Anyway, since his wife was two years dead and his kids had abandoned him years ago, he named me the sole heir in his will, and no one was around to contest it. I got enough muggle money to last maybe a year, but it was something. I just wanted to get away though, so a couple friends and I went camping all over the country, walking and setting up tents. Some… things happened, and in June I decided to rejoin society and managed to get this flat. I barely touched my money the past year, so I've got rent here paid the next year. Not that I'll be home much…"

Hadley frowned but kept her silence. Her cousin should have had some sort of emotion as he spoke of the _murder_ of his grandfather-figure, but he fell flat as he had done all day. There was something very wrong about that, she was sure, but had no idea how to call him out on it. Instead she tried to focus on his answer to her question. He was unemployed but invited her to live with him, and hadn't mentioned if he was even looking for work, just that he didn't have any.

Well, since she was already in it, she supposed she might as well be wholeheartedly. However, as she was about to open her mouth to inquire as to what could "something" be, when he had no trouble imparting the death of his teacher, Harry continued talking.

"We're pretty set for a couple more years though," Harry shrugged. He twirled his cup in his hand, contemplating the dark liquid inside. Hadley took a swig of her coke as she listened. "I told you I hit my majority recently? I had this itch to go to Gringotts. It turned out that my great grandparents reinherited my grandmother before they died, but no one told her before she died. And since Mum was an only child, I ended being the one to inherit from them. It's not a lot, they were a minor pureblood family, barely pureblood at all really, and I don't even know where they got their money from, but if I'm careful I'll be almost thirty before it runs out, even if I don't get a job after-"

The buzzer rang. Harry gave Hadley an apologetic smile and stood to attend whoever their visitor might be. Hadley contented herself with taking another bite of pizza. For now.

Hadley peeked toward the door to see if she could catch a glimpse of their visitor around Harry, which shouldn't be too hard considering his thin frame. And she could indeed see around him, wizened white hair was visible over his own even from her angle, and the person in question was wearing matching blue wizards robes with shooting stars traveling along the fabric.

She was only a little surprised when she heard Harry say, "Professor Dumbledore?"

Hadley choked on her pizza. So maybe she was more than a little surprised. But from what she had seen, the "Merlin" was a pretty popular style with older wizards, and it couldn't be too uncommon for them to also be unsubtle in a building full of muggle flats.

"Hello there, young man, is there a Hadley Potter about?" Dumbledore's voice was calm, as always, but there was something to his tone that indicated that he was… worried, maybe? How did he know to look for her here? Not that she minded being found. "I have asked at three doors already, and no one has been able to tell me anything. Though you are the first wizard whose door I have happened upon."

"Yes sir, we were just eating dinner. You could join if you like," Harry stepped back and Dumbledore came into full view, half-moon spectacles and all. Hadley waved to him. She couldn't help but smile as she thought of the things he must have thought to come here; did he think she was out with a family friend with the Dursleys? Kidnapped? Run away to live with a muggle boyfriend? Never let it be said that a Potter could have _no_ mischievous streak.

"Thank you," Dumbledore followed Harry through the little walking space over to the table more gracefully than the teen who had been living there for months. He was seated in the chair that was only half on the tile and handed a plate; it was only then that Hadley realized there had, in fact, been three plates on the table all along. Strange. "Hadley, I hope you have been enjoying your summer?"

"Except for today, it's been… very normal," Hadley decided was the best response. She had a feeling Dumbledore knew what her home life was like, so she wouldn't bother lying. Someone had to be looking in on her all her life, and if it wasn't plastered all over the Prophet and tabloids, then it couldn't be anyone in the Ministry.

"And what about you, Mr…?" He was looking carefully at Harry, as if taking him in and trying to unravel him. Hadley thought it was sort of like how Snape looked when it seemed he was reading her mind in class, but less vicious. Or, at least, with less ill intent.

"Harry Potter, sir," Harry said between bites of pizza. With the professor there, he suddenly seemed a lot more interested in his food.

"Potter? I wasn't aware James had any family left who bore his family name," Dumbledore's brow was furrowed.

"James…? Oh, you mean Hadley's dad? No, I'm not from that family," Harry shook his head. The moment's confusion was the closest thing to any tone in his voice. "My dad, Ben Potter, the whole family's muggle. Mum's side was magic, but I've still barely been in the world at all. I only recognized you at the door because I have your frog card. I mean, you're famous, but not everyone's famous enough to get a frog card."

"My finest achievement to date, I think," the elder wizard nodded, but his eyes were still rooted on Harry. "I suppose I will skip further small talk and simply ask you this; why have you taken Hadley from her home?"

Harry set down his slice of pizza entirely and sat back on his seat. "Well, sir, she's family," Harry shrugged. "Not on the Potter side, that was just a weird coincidence. Briar Evans had a fling a bit before he met his wife I guess and my mum was born. Only Gran was a witch, from a small pureblood line called Jones, and they disowned her when they found out she was pregnant. I only found this out at the end of last month, but there was an attack in Manchester, June of 1980. My parents were at a film, and the theater was set on fire. I was raised by the muggle half of the family and they didn't know about Mum.

"When it turned out I was a wizard, well, Uncle Cid didn't really care so long as I could use it to fix anything he did when he was drunk. I got hit less if I fixed things, and after that Uncle Cid wasn't so keen to send me to his mum and she was a right harpy, so it was okay. But I ran away a few years ago, and then I found out about being related to Hadley a few days ago, and I wanted to meet the family and make sure that she grew up better than me.

"I met Mr Dursley not long after her though and…" Harry stopped and grabbed his glass, taking a slow swig. "What my dad's family did to me was never personal. Uncle Cid loved my dad and he thought mum was a laugh and a half. But he was a drunk and really, the whole family was drunks and criminals. They didn't want to hurt me, it just happened. I met Vernon for less than a minute before I knew that wasn't the case. Is it… is it so bad, sir? Is it a bad thing that I want to save what might be the only decent human being in my entire bloody family?"

Hadley realized then that Harry had been expecting this. Although in the less-than-a-day she had known him, it was obvious that Harry was rather open about his past, he was going beyond that now. He wasn't just being open, he was being manipulative. He had even had something resembling emotion in his voice with the last.

He was showing Dumbledore the similarities in their backgrounds on purpose and making sure that Dumbledore _knew_ that Harry at least thought he empathized with Hadley, and that he… what? That he viewed this as saving himself? That he would never mistreat her, the wizarding world's darling, because he could see everything of his own past in his cousin?

True, Uncle Vernon wasn't an alcoholic – as a matter of fact, he made a point of never having more than two drinks a week unless his sister was about and certainly never anything cheap – and almost all violence in the home had been restricted to Dudley and his gang, but… well, it didn't take a genius to see the parallels.

"It is not wrong to want to save people, Mr Potter," Dumbledore's voice was solemn, "but you must understand. Although the home life at the Dursleys is not ideal, it is necessary for Hadley's safety. Very few people know this, but her mother's sacrifice created a protection that only family can maintain. There are forces at work still that would put her in great danger without those wards." So was that it then? Was Dumbledore taking her back to Little Whinging? The Dursleys wouldn't be happy. Neither was Hadley, though the small bit of freedom had been nice.

"But I'm family too," Harry's voice was quiet, almost uncertain, but he repeated himself louder. "I'm family too. Can't the wards resettle here? And… well, I guess you don't go through admissions yourself sir, the letter I got back was from your Deputy, but I registered to attend my final year of schooling at Hogwarts. I never got to take any NEWTs, and my teacher died before he could make special arrangements, so I thought I would try going to school for the last year. And if I'm there, and whatever blood magic or soul magic or whatever it is, if that considers me family, won't that make her even safer at school?"

"If you are a close enough relation, the wards would already be settling here," Dumbledore was eyeing the older of the two teenagers now.

"Aren't they? Have you looked?" Hadley glanced between the two wizards. It was like their eyes were waging a battle all their own, tranquil blue versus Evans green. The magic in the air was thicker, stirring to create a wind that couldn't be there by normal means. "If they are, would that settle your argument? Would you leave things to Hadley's decision?"

Dumbledore slowly withdrew his wand and flicked it towards the wall that bordered their nearest neighbor. A red haze, mere shades brighter than the wall, made itself visible there, pulsing slowly. The old man stood and walked to it, dodging the end of the couch.

"Blood alone can anchor these wards," he said after a moment of observation. "I do hope you know what you are doing, Mr Potter."

* * *

After that, Dumbledore did not question Harry further, and the conversation instead turned to the coming Quidditch World Cup. Hadley wasn't planning on going, and Harry made no mention of his intent either, but all three seated at the table were keen to discuss their ideas on what would happen.

For some reason, Harry was certain that it would be an Irish win, but that the Bulgarian Seeker Viktor Krum would be the one to catch the snitch. While Hadley knew that to be possible, it was very unlikely.

When, in response to her letter telling Ron of her relocation to London for the foreseeable summers, the Weasleys invited her to attend the cup with them, Harry smiled an odd, knowing smile. "Keep an eye on your wand throughout it, won't you? The Minister's Box may be important, but that means important people will be there, people like the Malfoy family, and Barty Crouch. You never know what might happen."

When she lost her wand after the game, Hadley wondered if Harry's prophetic moments were a normal thing. But she also knew that, even with that tendency, she couldn't tell him about the dream she had had mere days before. Unless they were seers and it ran in the family somehow, it was just a nightmare, and Harry just had good intuition.

That was all.

* * *

Seeing the dead and the broken alive again was more strenuous than Harry could have anticipated, but he couldn't help but think of how much less strenuous it was than seeing the dead and the broken, well, dead and broken. When he snuck into the Ministry to plant false documents in early July, he saw people who he had last seen as corpses, including Arthur Weasley carrying a load of enchanted tea-cups to the Unspeakables, probably for identification, and Tonks in her apprentice robes jogging after Kingsley.

It was just luck, really, that made Harry get through without notice. The Cloak of Invisibility was great, but not so great that absolutely no one could see him, Albus Dumbledore and Mad-Eye Moody being good cases in point, though he did wonder how they could do what Death himself supposedly could not.

The false documents fit in decently with the rest in the office he found, slipped among other registries of homeschooled or apprenticed young wizards and witches. That part was easy. It was forging a history for the teacher and family that didn't exist that had taken the better part of a week. Making up a family that was pureblooded by only two generations had been hard, true, but going to the goblins, opening an account with them, and then obliviating them and redoing the paperwork so they thought the account had been active from the turn of the century… _that_ had taken almost all of July!

Every day, or night, or morning, depending on when he needed to do something, Harry returned home, exhausted. By comparison, setting up a paper trail for Harry Potter that lead to a family in Manchester had been so much easier. Sure, he had little idea of how to work a computer, but confounding one muggle to "fix" his records had been easy.

The most interesting part, he supposed, had been his first week, figuring out where Fawkes had taken him – the wretched bird having flown off as soon as they landed – and discovering he was four years in the past. And then that, not only was he four years in the past, he was four years in _a_ past. A past where he was apparently a girl, or his parents happened to have a daughter rather than a son, whatever.

After that… even as serene as his potions made him, Harry felt what came after his preparations was surpassingly easy. He knew himself at that age. At 14, he had just been denied the chance to live with Sirius and escape the Dursleys. He had just had his dream stolen from him. It was a bit sad to deceive young Hadley Potter, but what could he say? "I'm your brother"? "I'm you"? None of it would have worked on him when he was that age, and none of it would work on a girl that age. Or at least not Hermione or Ginny. Girls were _smart_ at that age.

Even now that he was eighteen, it scared him a bit.

Eighteen. That had been a whole other problem. He had heard of magical inheritances. Ron's had happened a few days after he and Lavendar broke up, and Ron had been whining about aching knees all day. Hermione's happened at 15, about when she and Viktor Krum had started hanging about together, which wasn't uncommon for witches, especially considering she'd probably gained a month or three after her time turner usage in third year.

Harry was 18 and, he was pretty sure, had not undergone any such thing. Wizards always had their magical majority before then. Or that's what Sirius had explained to him that Christmas at Grimmauld Place. But he had also said that sometimes you just didn't notice. Harry considered his history of potion use and decided that had to be it. But claiming to have had his magical majority recently was excuse enough to convince Hadley that it was only a magical flash of inspiration that made him find out about their relation.

But regardless, he managed to act his way into getting Hadley away from the Dursleys. He knew Dumbledore would know the moment they were a mile away from the wards. And that the wards dissolved soon after. So he had a feeling that Dumbledore would follow a tracking spell that was placed on the young savior of the wizarding world and arrive at Harry's small two-room apartment.

And convincing Dumbledore that Hadley should stay was, in the end, easy. Because the Dursleys had been a necessity, not something Dumbledore wanted to foist on the girl, and the wards settled perfectly.

For nearly a week after, Harry wondered why Dumbledore never brought up his resemblance to James Potter. But he went through his photo album Hagrid had given him, and realized two things from that. The first, was that his hair had lightened a bit, likely from how much sun he had seen the past months, to take on a dark red hue rather than Hadley's pitch black.

The second thing he realized was that he did look an awful lot like Briar Evans.

There was only one photo including the man, at the wedding of Lily and James, when he had been fifty. But Harry could see he had a lot of the man's facial features, not least of all his eyes. Nose, chin, ears, even the general shape of his face belonged to his mother's side. And now his hair was longer, it was harder to see the things that made him look like a Potter, his cheek bones, mouth, and the cowlicks mostly.

Harry smiled to himself, mostly because smiling was the correct thing to do, or so he believed. He was lying on the couch in the cramped living room, holding the snitch that had heralded the end of his life. The ring was back inside it. It had appeared on the ground before him in the field Fawkes had dropped him in, as if refusing to be left behind. The snitch he had kept for sentimental value, but now it went back to the previous occupation of holding the Resurrection Stone.

Hadley had left two days before to go to the Weasleys' for the Quidditch Cup. Harry had had her take the Knight Bus, since the apartment certainly had no fireplace for the floo network, and they had decided she would come back in a week to do her shopping and help confirm that the wards would be strong enough when school started for them to be left for months on end.

The Prophet that morning had been as expected, a moving photo of the Dark Mark over the forest, reports of injuries that might not have happened, a quote from "Arnold West", and many other signs of Rita Skeeters particular shade of yellow journalism colored the front page story.

Tucked in the sports section was the account of the match itself, which included confirmation of Harry's own "prediction" of the results. He wondered if he should have actually placed a bet.

A firm knock on the door broke The-Vanquisher-of-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named from his perusal of the prophet, which he dropped to the floor instantly. The snitch was tucked into his pocket and he left arm touched the right quickly, confirming that his wand, the disguised Elder Wand, would pop into his hand the moment he wanted it.

"Just a moment!" he called, standing from the couch. He walked what little distance there was to the door and checked through the peep hole.

Well then.

"What a surprise," Harry smiled, sliding the bolt and opening the door. "What brings you to my door, Professor Dumbledore?"

"A few matters, Mr Potter, if I might come in?" The Headmaster was considerably friendlier on this visit that on the previous. He wasn't trying to intimidate or shame an explanation out of Harry; honestly, Harry had no idea what the Headmaster would want. It was rather hard to formulate a strategy against an opponent who should not have been there at that precise moment in time. How could Harry manipulate a situation into his favor without knowing what the situation was?

The best way he knew how, of course; be his "old self".

"Of course sir, I was about to put the kettle on," Harry backed from the door, ushering Dumbledore in and closing the door behind. "If you don't mind Earl Gray, that's all I've got right now. And lemon biscuits?"

The twinkle in the Headmaster's eye showed all the approval Harry required, and he flicked his wand to get the tea going, biscuits floating out of the cupboard to settle on a nice plate that floated out to the dining table, soon accompanied by a matching tea service. The kettle whistled quickly from the heating charms, and within a minute Harry and the Hogwarts Headmaster were seated to a simple afternoon tea.

"You said you had multiple points of business today, sir? So this isn't just a pleasure call," Harry stated while doctoring his tea. He had a false smile on his face, hoping to give the impression that the previous meeting had not elicited any from him due to the serious matters at hand. Now, though…

"Indeed, the first being to check the status of the blood wards, though that can wait for the moment," the old wizard _did_ seem pleased with the lemon biscuits. Harry had never noticed, but perhaps McGonagall had been onto something when she said he had a bit of an obsession with muggle lemon sweets. They had been his password to his office at one point, hadn't they? Sherbet lemons? Harry thought so anyway.

"What other business is there?" Harry waited. The Headmaster would talk, but prodding was expected.

"Just a few smaller matters," Dumbledore replied almost dismissively. Not small then. "Minerva tells me you have not yet sent in your list of classes?"

"That's true sir, I'm still debating," Harry nodded along with his words and took a sip of tea. Too much sugar. Too late to fix it. "I know I will be taking most of the core subjects, Transfigurations, Defense, Charms, and Potions are all too useful to pass up. I was considering Care of Magical Creatures but that might not be the best idea this year."

"Have you given any thought to Divination?" Dumbledore, Harry realized, was watching his closely.

Divination? Did Dumbledore think he was…

"_I'd put my money on Krum catching the snitch," Harry told them, still grateful at the lighter subject matter. "He's phenomenal, you know."_

"_A Bulgarian win? Not very patriotic, are we?" Hadley chuckled behind her hand._

"_Who said that? The Irish will win, hands down, I'm just saying that Krum will catch the snitch."_

Oh. Harry hadn't thought about that. It seemed he'd accidentally styled himself as a seer. True, predicting the outcome of the game was only one incident that Dumbledore would know of, and the Weasley twins had probably made that same bet again, but one incident was still more than most wizards ever had.

_That_ was what Dumbledore was here for.

"I hadn't really considered it, but I might," Harry hedged. How was he to play this one? Did he want Dumbledore to think him a seer? Did he want to be the man's pet prophet? Trelawney overall failed at that, but it would give him an in.

It would give Hadley more chances that he had ever had, certainly.

"I saw in the OWL results you sent in that you didn't take an exam for Divination," Dumbledore continued, and it was true, Harry hadn't taken such an exam when he went in to the Ministry for the home-schooled exams a few weeks ago. "Why not read my teacup and we'll see if you're up to snuff?"

Teacups were third year of course, absolute elementary, and Harry could barely remember the signs that could be found in tea (besides the Grim, of course). But… he knew things about the headmaster. He didn't have to say what signs he saw, just say things he knew.

It would be so _easy_, he realized, to pretend to be a seer.

He was almost shaking as he accepted the cup and saucer, almost. He remembered the proper procedure for draining the cup, and in a minute he was holding it in his hands.

"You're going to have a very busy year," he started with. "Competition. Not for you, but your life will revolve around competition for a while." He pretended that the blob of leaves actually made sense and turned the cup to get a fresh angle on another blob. "You have a brother? That's not on your chocolate frog card… but you're estranged. It might change soon though." Another shift. "Huh. There's going to be a traitor close to you. Or there already is. But someone you trust won't be themselves." He paused. "The rest is a puddle, sorry sir." He couldn't think of anything else to say, really. The ring was still so far away, but Dumbledore certainly believed in the power of divination. Who knows, he might actually listen to warnings from a supposed seer.

Then Harry poured the man a fresh cup of tea, and Dumbledore "filled him in" on the dangers of being associated with Hadley Potter. Told him a little bit about the previous years' adventures. Not a word about Sirius or Wormtail, oddly, but plenty about Voldemort and the Dementors.

"I understand sir, really I do," Harry sighed as he stood to show his never-mentor to the door. "I understand better than you know precisely what being family to Hadley can entail." He paused, wavering on a knife's edge, before he decided that he wanted to press his luck. "I can tell you this, sir. You are going to lose her. On your current path, you are going to lose Hadley's heart forever. She will find out everything you have hidden from her, and she will hate you for it. If you keep waiting, she will find out when she is at her lowest, and she will never forgive you."

Dumbledore stared, solemn, quiet, and slowly he nodded.

**Author's Note: There's chapter 3. I only wrote this chapter in two sittings, oddly enough. The other chapters were about a thousand words a day. This one… well, I had a busy week and had to make up for lost time, I suppose.**

**Although I'm going to try and keep this "year" limited to ten chapters, I can't guarantee it. That encompasses my planned content, but I'm already foreseeing issues in Hadley's battle with Rita Skeeter and other such subplots of the fourth book that really do need to be addressed. After all, a battle between the beetle and Harry is one thing, but you remember how much harsher it was on Hermione? Shaming girls is easier than shaming boys. The things that shame girls are things that boys take pride in. So I might have trouble with adding those in and keeping my chapters as I want them. Other issues too of course (I have my pairings for this story decided, except for whether or not Harry will have anyone), but that's the one I can foresee causing the most trouble as I write this chapter.**

**(And yeah, I know, I'm writing these chapters ages in advance, but the notes are written that far in advance too. So sorry, you don't get to know my current thoughts, just the ones while writing this chapter.)**

**Do people want to know the pairings in advance? That's one thing I'm curious about. You can't influence my pairing decisions, I'm just curious as to whether or not there are people in here for whom certain pairings are deal breakers. I will say this though: no slash. I hope readers of my other stories aren't disappointed by this.**


	4. Pick and Choose

**Yes FFN is deleting stories. No I don't care. Most of them contain porn that, if you were found in possession of it, you'd be arrested on charges of pedophilia/beastiality/etc. Grow the fuck up.**

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Joanne Kathleen Rowling and associates, of whom I am not one. This is a rewrite of a fic from 4 years ago.

Warnings: AU, mentions of child abuse, ongoing theme of drug abuse, some character bashing (but only such that it follows canon and canon trends), spoilers through Deathly Hallows, coarse language, some minor OCs.

Chapter 4: Pick And Choose

The morning of September the first, Hadley woke up earlier than she may have liked, though thankfully not as early as she would have if she had been staying the second half of the summer with Ron's family. She had gone over a couple more times in the past week since her return from the Quidditch Cup, of course, but there was something to be said for living in London. She could take the tube at half ten and still get on the Hogwarts Express before eleven.

She stretched a bit and rolled over to grab her new glasses from the small bedside table, still wrapped in red bedding. The glasses had been a late birthday gift from Harry, when he caught her squinting at the telly. She had been planning to go to an optometrist before school started anyway, but Harry had got her an appointment before she left for the Weasleys and found a one-hour shop that would have them done in the time it took to have lunch. Her new frames were amazing, no longer the heavy frames that Vernon had picked up at the cheapest price possible. And while her eyes weren't _terrible_, it was fascinating that they could make the lenses as thin as they did.

Later, she asked Harry why they didn't go to a wizarding shop for the glasses, and he explained that he really had no idea where any magical medical facility other than St Mungo's was. Hadley made note to ask Mr Weasley about it later, since she doubted his and Percy's glasses came from muggle shops.

With the half-frames perched again on her nose, Hadley finally noticed something off with her room. On Hedwig's perch, rather than the wonderful white owl Hadley had been planning to greet that morning, there was a blue macaw that almost matched the color of the wall behind it. It turned around and cawed, realizing she was awake, its yellow belly helping it stand out.

There was a pouch on its neck that she immediately realized must hold a letter from Sirius. They had been exchanging letters all summer, and though his last bird had been some fabulous red thing, received the same day as Ron's owl about the cup, the parrot was almost… disappointing.

Still, it was fabulous to know he was somewhere tropical. The last sighting had apparently been in Brazil.

Idly, Hadley wondered if that snake from the zoo ever managed to leave the isles.

Hadley pulled herself out of bed, trekking the single step between herself and the parrot, relieving it of its burden. She gave it a look, wondering if it would leave, but the bird leased a shrill whistle and called "wait for a reply!" before making some weird clicking noise.

She immediately decided owls were far superior means of communication. Her ears were ringing.

"Hadley? What was that?" Harry's voice carried through the wall. Apparently he was in the kitchen. She headed to the door to her room to reply, but the instant she opened it to stick her head out, the parrot flew before her, apparently expecting to be in her presence until she replied to Sirius.

"Bloody-" Hadley refrained from saying more, chasing the parrot into the living room where it perched on the back of a dining chair. Too late. Harry was standing between the bird and the kitchen, spatula in one hand and a pan of bacon in the other. "Er…"

"You know someone with an interesting 'owl', I take it," Harry was eyeing the bird carefully. It clicked at him and settled into its new perch better. "Glad you're up at least. Morning."

"Good morning," Hadley nodded, giving a half-hearted glare at the parrot. "Um, about the bird…" She couldn't pin it on the Weasleys, Harry had already seen Pig. And Hermione didn't have any bird, plus she'd sent muggle post the other day. She was trying to teach Mr Weasley to do it the right way, since she stayed the rest of summer while her parents were at a dental conference.

Could she tell him about Sirius? Something told her Harry would understand, but... he was oddly distant. For all he was so open about his previous life and the trauma he had experienced little more than a year ago, Harry wasn't all there. When they were home together, they didn't talk much, and the closest thing to emotion he ever seemed to display was just a general sense of uncertainty in his voice.

Harry tip-toed around her, a lot of people did. And something told Hadley that it had nothing to do with her status as the Girl-Who-Lived. Something else made him keep his distance.

That something, whatever it was, was enough to make her not want to tell him about Sirius. Not unless she had to.

"It's fine," Harry cut off her train of thought. "Just be careful. The bird bites."

As she would discover upon reading the post-script in Sirius' letter, the bird did indeed bite. Especially when she gave it a letter to send back to Sirius.

* * *

The rain was absolutely ridiculous, Hadley decided. It was cold and it was pouring rain, and even though Harry had offered to enchant her robes that morning she had refused. It had been sunny in London. Scotland, however, was about as wet as ever, and Hadley wasn't the only student to run into the great hall looking like a drowned rat, though she was probably the only one with a plaster half falling off her finger because of the weather. Those poor first years – and Harry – wouldn't know what hit them.

And Peeves dropping water balloons on anyone he could only added insult to injury.

In the Great Hall, the upper years were very popular as they cast drying and heating charms on anyone who asked. Or the nice ones did. The less nice ones might have for a price, but with the nicer students doing it for free there would be no market. So those with less than pure intent behind their offers quickly stopped bothering, preferring to catch up with their friends and year mates as they sat, dry and unbothered.

The Sorting commenced shortly, the first years all looking half-drowned, in particular one who was absolutely swimming in Hagrid's jacket and waving at Colin Creevey. It didn't take more than half a second for Hadley to realize she would have another stalker, and he was quick to join the house of lions, already muttering with his brother and looking to Hadley in awe.

She winced. Colin had been keen to point his brother out when they entered, letting her know he'd told his brother _all_ about her, and he'd seen every one of his photos that he had taken throughout the past two years, and wouldn't it be great if he was in Gryffindor? Sure, Hadley had had the idle hope that the younger Creevey would end up in maybe Hufflepuff - that was the only other option, looking at the cheery, soggy, boy - but obviously no luck. This year would be more annoying than ever.

Harry was the last to be Sorted. It was hardly the first time Hogwarts had received a transfer student, though they didn't usually come in their final year, and most managed to get sorted before school actually started. Harry, however, had apparently been too busy to drop by the Headmaster's office beforehand, In the total two weeks Hadley had stayed in the flat he often left to go shopping or to go attend to business at Gringotts apparently, and so he had the dubious honor of being the first student over the age of twelve to be sorted publically in perhaps thirty or forty years.

Or that was what Hermione was whispering in her ear, Hadley wasn't really paying much attention.

She didn't really care what house her cousin landed in. He was too old to be shaped like the younger students were by their houses. It would simply be an assessment of his most prominent trait or where his ambitions would necessitate his placement rather than the life altering decision that Hadley and her friends had faced several years ago.

Still, when a minute was passed and no house had been called, Hadley was certainly curious. Harry and the hat both had to know it couldn't _possibly_ matter much where he landed. He was eighteen already! Aside from a couple of dimmer students who failed to get at least three NEWTs as required to graduate and didn't feel like dropping out, he was to be the oldest student. And one year of living with a group of people wasn't a big deal, so why was it taking so long?

Ron, and many other wizards she knew, would probably think Hadley a heretic for thinking it, but she wondered if houses really _mattered_ after a while. If people really were sorted by their "strongest" trait, Hermione would be a Ravenclaw, unless bossiness was a Gryffindor trait. And, Hadley thought with a bit of spite on her mind, Malfoy would be a Hufflepuff, since he never seemed terribly cunning at all with his attempts to get her and Ron in trouble all the time. He wasn't very "Slytherin" at all by the hat's definition, and yet he was sorted before the hat even touched his perfectly groomed little head.

The spite still wiggling about in her mind, Hadley wondered why they bothered sorting at all. It just gave students a framework to cultvate a specific personality type and ignore their other traits. Which was a bad idea because a bunch of recklessly brave children - such as Hadley herself - all bunched up together was a terrible idea.

Finally, at the three minute mark, the hat called out "Slytherin!" and Harry took his place at the house of snakes. His eyes sought out Hadley, and she gave him a smile before turning to the food that appeared in front of her. She let her spite go away.

Harry was in Slytherin. He kind of seemed it, not she thought about it, but only a little. It was really his lack of showing much emotion, he seemed like some of the older Slytherins, the ones who were preparing to take on Head of House duties now that they were of age. It was odd for someone raised by muggles for years, or maybe not. But hadn't Harry said he was in charge of his family-of-one now? Maybe it was just a general "thing".

"That's your cousin, isn't it?" Hermione frowned. "I didn't see him at all on the train."

"He sat near the prefect's compartment, said he wanted to study," Hadley shrugged, loading potatoes and chicken onto her plate. Harry was actually an alright cook, surprisingly, but nothing short of Molly Weasley herself could beat Hogwarts food.

"But he's a Slytherin now," Ron looked scandalized, not touching the food in front of him. "Why aren't you… how can you live with that?"

Hadley frowned. "He wasn't a Slytherin when I was living with him, and he won't be once he graduates and I go back to the flat. I think he got Slytherin because he seems to… think ahead a lot." That sounded about right. And his lack of emotion. But what could she really say about that? Her suspicions from a month ago, that he took calming potions, weren't true. There wasn't a single calming potion in the entire flat, even though Harry apparently brewed potions in his room frequently.

"_Think ahead?_ You mean scheme!" Ron was a bit flustered at Hadley's lack of care over the fact that her cousin was a slimy Slytherin. She almost wanted to tell him that that's where she would be if she hadn't argued with the hat over it so badly. If Ron hadn't told her straight out what a terrible person Malfoy and the other Slytherins were. Sometimes she wondered of course, what life would be like, but then Malfoy would call Hermione terrible names or Pansy Parkinson would try to taunt Hadley about her "size".

Pansy, the stuck up pug, had been the first girl in their year to start growing breasts. And not even her pug-like nose and nasty attitude seemed to make that matter any less. It was like she held court, or thought she did.

_First to develop is first to hit majority_, Hadley reminded herself. And the sooner someone hit majority, overall the weaker they were. She wouldn't be surprised if Pansy had already reached hers, honestly. Weak witches hit majority as early as thirteen, and hadn't Pansy been going in and out of the hospital wing in February last year?

"It's not scheming, it's just understanding how other people think," Hadley sighed. "I mean, I know you like chess. Does asking you to play chess with me when you're in a sour mood mean that I'm scheming?"

Ron was flustered again by this, eventually saving himself from humiliation by digging into his food with nearly unheard of gusto. Then Nearly Headless Nick told them of the trouble in the kitchens and Hermione refused to eat food made by "slave labor".

While Hadley and Ron both tried to convince Hermione to eat, Ron because it amused him and Hadley because Hermione needed _food_ no matter what her morals said, the rest of the Hall did as they were wont to do and talked loudly. At length, dessert cleared and Hadley sighed at her failure to get her friend to eat anything.

And then Headmaster said it. The magic words. No Quidditch. No.

No no no.

Hadley wasn't going to stand for _no Quidditch_. Not when she had finally got away from the Dursleys. Not when this was her last year before OWLs. That was unacceptable.

The explanation of a "Triwizard Tournament" did nothing to make her feel better.

One student of Hogwarts was going to be involved in a competition that would, on the whole, encompass only three days, and that meant the _entire school_ had to go without Quidditch? Hadley wasn't the only student to whimper at the injustice, even if the Weasley twins were more concerned about the fact that they wouldn't be of age until April first and therefore could not participate in the tournament either.

The students were dismissed to their dormitories and Hadley stood to follow the prefects to the tower. She was stopped at the doors by Professor McGonagall, who told her she was to go to the Headmaster's office before returning to the tower, informing her of both the password to the office (Fizzing Whizbee) and to Gryffindor House (Balderdash). Her friends went on without her, and Hadley only spared Harry a wave as he passed by her.

Unless it was an apology for cancelling Quidditch, Hadley wasn't too interested in whatever the Headmaster wanted. But she obediently made her way up to the gargoyle guarding his office, offering it to password in a put-out tone.

The Headmaster bid her enter before she could rap on the door – she supposed he had heard the stairs moving – and Hadley obeyed. The room was the same as it had been a year and a half prior when she had last been inside, complete was Fawkes sat on his perch, preening. Headmasters of years past sat sleeping in their portraits, and the current headmaster was sitting behind his desk, smiling.

"Sir," Hadley acknowledged, "what am I here for?"

"There are two orders of business to attend to tonight, my girl," Dumbledore indicated she should sit. "I think the more dire of the two should come first. The second is perhaps a bit depressing, but lighter subject matter on the whole.

"Ms Potter, Hadley, your godfather sent me a message regarding your dream during the summer, your vision of Voldemort and Peter Pettigrew, and the death of the old man. I must tell you that this confirmed some suspicions I have had since your first year when you were beginning to have pains in your scar. There is a connection between you and Voldemort, one that, as he strengthens, so shall it. What were once twinges when he was nearby and ready to take the Stone are now visions sent from leagues and leagues away. I do not know how strong the bond might be when he is whole again, or as close as he can be, but knowing what we do now, I must reveal something to you that I have been considering for some time.

"I must apologize for keeping this from you for so long, but it was…" the Headmaster hesitated. Something about the way he spoke, the way that Hadley knew, even if she wanted to interject, she couldn't, reminded her of something. "Necessary is not quite the right word. I have been foolish to keep it from you, but now wise enough to know that you _must_ know. The prophecy you heard from Professor Trelawney was not the only one of its ilk. Not long before you were born, she gave one other."

And he showed her in a bowl of strange silver liquid what had happened that night. Professor Trelawney's ethereal body hung over the bowl, like Princess Leia in her message to Obi-Wan Kenobi in the Star Wars films Harry had showed her over the summer. And her words spelled out Hadley's future. Hadley's do-or-die fight for the world, all in a rather bad poem and gravelly voice.

Her hands gripped the arms of the chair. It wasn't coincidence. She'd been doomed from the start, her parents, her previous encounters with Voldemort… it was all pre-determined. Was there such a thing as free will? The reality of prophecy, of fate weighed on her. The prophecy said "he" but that was semantics; the magics of Divination did not define gender. Every prophecy was about a "he" if that was the de-facto identifier of the language but many were fulfilled by "she". There was no sex to prophecy. Magic didn't really understand gender. The only reason girls usually hit majority first was because it was triggered by puberty, anyway.

"I cannot tell you what your 'power' is, Hadley," Dumbledore continued a minute later. "But I believe it stems from the same source as the protection your mother left for you. Love. I cannot tell you how that is a power, only that Voldemort can never and will never understand it, and in all likelihood the fact that you do may well save you in the end. Perhaps it will be love of a man or a woman, or love of your friends or a child… but I believe that it is love. And I hope you have many years before you need to prove me wrong."

Hadley only nodded, deep in thought. Or, rather, her mind was so full of thoughts that she could barely wade in to pick one out and develop it. She would have questions. In a few minutes or a few days, or even in a few months, but she would have questions for the aged Headmaster.

If he refused them, there would be hell to pay.

"I realize that leaves you with much thinking to do, but the second matter came to my attention recently, and I believe you would appreciate having it taken care of sooner rather than later," Dumbledore sighed. "You must have questions, but do mull them over and send me an owl when you know what you want to know. For now, I must inform you that your parents will was never executed."

Hadley's head snapped up. Not executed? "My parents died thirteen years ago sir, how could it not have been executed in _thirteen years_?" Hadley didn't like this any more than the prophecy, she could tell.

"Because I wanted you safe behind the blood wards at your aunt's house, it could not be executed as directed," Dumbledore pulled out a sheaf of parchment. "I do not know your financial holdings, that is for the goblins to tell you, but the release of this will has several other stipulations. That you not live with the Dursleys, which can now be done safely. That, should you please upon reaching the age of thirteen, you be able to gain emancipation, if it within reason to do so. There is a list of acceptable guardians among the those parchments, if you would rather have one, since it seems your cousin neglected to make his taking you in more official."

"I…" Hadley shook her head. "I can get emancipated? That's like being an adult, right? Would I be able to do magic out of school? Or would it just be things like signing my own permission forms?"

"Performing magic out of school still requires that you be seventeen and possess at least three OWLs, emancipated or otherwise. However, you would have greater responsibility for yourself, pay tax on your holdings, and yes, you would be able to sign your own forms and contracts. You won't be able to do so until the end of the year at the earliest – trust me, Hogwarts will be a sight for Christmas you won't want to miss! – but you may find it to your advantage."

Hadley frowned deeply. "You... stopped my parents' will from being executed before, what's to say you won't again? You haven't given me many reasons to trust you right now, sir," but she did trust him, even as she said those words. He could have waited until it was too late to tell her about the prophecy. He could have refused to tell her about her parents' will - _ever_ - and she never would know anything that was in the folder clasped in her hands.

She was afraid of what was inside it. Would her parents have included knowledge that Peter Pettigrew was their secret keeper? When had this will been written? If it was going to be executed now, the parts that wren't simply "up to her", would someone try to contest the will and not let Hadley do the things her parents had wanted her to be able to do?

The idea that someone would go against it, the seemingly holy documents in her hands... but Dumbledore had already done that, hadn't he?

With a frown, Hadley stood. "If I might be excused? I have class in the morning, and… a lot to think about." Like her complete and utter submission to fate. "I'll send Hedwig when I know what I want to say sir. Because right now, if I try to ask you any questions, I'm going to start screaming, and I don't want to do that."

"Of course, Ms Potter."

Hadley didn't sleep that night.

* * *

"Oh no you don't!" Hadley half jumped out of her skin when she heard Moody's bellow and watched as his wand whipped forward, issuing a beam of white straight for her. She was about to drop to the floor when it whizzed by her right ear and, she realized, most certainly struck one Draco Malfoy.

Though tempted to ask why the Professor had sent a hex at all, especially one that nearly hit her, Hadley was more compelled to spin around and see precisely _what_ had been done to Malfoy.

At her side, Ron burst into hysterical laughter.

"Step away from him, boy!" Moody snarled as he stomped over. Goyle quickly backed away from the white ferret that was on the ground, trying to figure out the use of its legs. "Try and hex the girl when her back is turned, will you? I'd think your father would have taught you what happens when you do that!" His wand flicked, again without any incantation, and suddenly Malfoy was bouncing on the floor.

Hadley was frozen while the other students laughed at the sight. After all it was _Draco Malfoy_ who was being bounced about, so why not laugh?

But Hadley wasn't laughing, and would not be.

Although Hadley hadn't ever seen a ferret in person before, she was fairly certain those weren't just squeaks of fear. A ferret shouldn't be making those sorts of screeching pained noises unless something was getting _broken_. And it wasn't too hard to believe that something was getting broken when Professor Moody was smacking him against the floor and walls with such… _vigor_.

As Hadley was about to try to intervene, regaining her wits, Professor McGonagall stormed to the rescue.

Crabbe and Goyle showed their true Slytherin colors, vanishing from the scene the moment the Head of their rival house appeared, no longer caring to save their friend. Cowards the lot of them.

"We do not use magic as a punishment! Alastor, I'm sure that Dumbledore told you we assign _detentions_ or take _points_! We do not assault _children_!" McGonagall was suddenly more intimidating that Hadley had ever seen her. Students had joked that she seemed like more of a Ravenclaw, strict and academic, but they forgot she had been one of the first female Quidditch players ever fielded by a school team, and most had no idea of the reputation as a spitfire she had had in her years as a student of Gryffindor house.

"Fine, then I'll do that," he cancelled his spell, dropping Malfoy a good five feet. The ferret squealed in pain again, leaning heavily to one side. Just what had Moody _done_ to the guy?

McGonagall's wand whipped out and reversed the transformation, leaving Malfoy a disheveled heap. He pulled himself up on the wall, or would have if Moody hadn't grabbed him roughly by the favored arm and yanked him up. Malfoy's face was decidedly not pretty.

"Come on then, so we can discuss your punishment," there was something decidedly _vindictive_ in Moody's words.

"Sir! You've more than punished him enough!" Hadley raced forward; Ron suddenly stopped laughing.

"Excuse me, Ms Potter?" Moody turned and looked at her with his regular eye, the large blue one looking out the side of his head at Malfoy. "You heard your head of house, I'm supposed to assign detention."

"Sir, with all due respect, you've already done more than is _legal_ to Malfoy." Why wasn't anyone backing her up? Why did McGonagall's protection end when Moody agreed to no longer hex students? "If he complained to the Governors, you would be fired on the spot. Hermione told me that in Hogwarts, A History, a law was passed in the sixties that made it so teachers can't do that anymore. You'll already be facing an inquiry." She hoped she was remembering this right. But this was _wrong_. Malfoy was injured, he been attacked by a teacher, and people _thought it was funny_.

Would they laugh if it was her? The Slytherins would, or maybe they wouldn't. Maybe they would see it like she saw it, like she thought people should see it, that just because Hadley hated the victim didn't make him not a victim.

Just because he was going to hex her behind her back, probably a trip jinx, didn't mean he deserved to be smashed about. Was that what aurors did, then?

"Listen Potter," Moody growl was lower than before, more threatening. Hadley straightened her spine.

"As the party wronged by Draco Malfoy I have the right to declare the slight null and void," Hadley had her brow furrowed as she tried to remember exactly what Hermione had told her. Hermione had found it in a book of wizarding law last year while looking for information to get Buckbeak free. It was the magical equivalent of saying you don't want to press charges, but it also showed that if charges were pressed anyway, magic would be on your side. They had entertained the notion of trying to get Malfoy to say it, to rescind his accusation against the hippogryff, but apparently it only worked between humans. Hermione had made sure they both learned it just in case. For Hermione, in case she angered someone who could make her life hell, since as a muggleborn she wouldn't have the political clout of an old family - like, say, the Malfoys. For Hadley… well, just in case. "You say he was going to attack me while my back was turned. All I saw was you hex him and smack a ferret against the walls. Sir."

Hadley was stiff, her jaw clenched and her fingers itching for her wand. They would be no defense against Moody. Apparently the man was more trigger happy than the rumors Ron and the other Weasleys had mentioned since his appointment as Defense Instructor. If he decided she was a threat, the fact that McGonagall was standing behind her wouldn't stop him from doing what he felt he had to. His wand was still in his hand, his eyes were both narrowed and on her, his scarred face twisted into what might have been an expression of revulsion.

Merlin, had she ever been so terrified in her life? She could hear her pulse, feel her body telling her to run _run you idiot he'll DO something_! Forget Quirrell, Voldemort, the basilisk, and even dementors. Hadley had the terrible feeling that, next time she faced a boggart, she knew exactly what she would see.

"Alastor, Ms Potter is correct," McGonagall finally came to her aid. Hadley relaxed, just a bit. She had a protector, for now. She'd done it right. This, this was something an adult _should_ make better. "I will be required to report this to the Headmaster. Further punishment of Mr Malfoy by you will be seen as prejudice and a lack of remorse. Ms Potter, if you would kindly escort Mr Malfoy to the Hospital Wing? I need to continue this discussion with Professor Moody."

Hadley stomach dropped a bit, but she did her best to hide it. Of course she had to help Malfoy to the hospital wing. His goons had ditched and she'd practically volunteered to do it by being the only person willing to stand up for him.

Still, better to feel awkward as she gently slung Malfoy's good arm around her shoulder than to be half paralyzed with fear that a teacher would attack her. Sweet Circe, Quirrell really had wrecked her. Hadley looked around to see Hermione and Ron slowly backing away. Or, rather, Ron backing away and Hermione trying to stop him, sending Hadley an apologetic look.

Alone, then. Right.

"I'm sorry I have to do this the muggle way," Hadley apologized as she started leading Malfoy away from the scene. The crowd had dispersed entirely, and McGonagall was chastising Moody in the hall for his blatant unprofessional behavior. Better Malfoy than that, certainly. "I haven't got a hang on Mobilicorpus yet, and I think you've been floated around enough today."

Malfoy said nothing. A good half of his weight was leaned on her, but he pretended she didn't exist. Typical. It was easier for him to pretend that he was going to the Hospital Wing on his own rather than admit that Hadley Potter, his arch nemesis, was helping him.

To be honest, Hadley was sort of pretending she wasn't helping Malfoy along either. Better for both their sanities.

If they were lucky, no one else would see this.

Potters and luck, of course, had a shaky relationship. Hadley heard footsteps coming from the next hall they were to take, and she sighed, resigned to whatever comments some random person in the school would have. Or not so random, as it turned out.

Harry rounded the corner ahead of them and gave what Hadley could now interpret as the disbelieving version of his basic expression. Though his body was less tense upon sighting them than when turning the corner, something about him indicated displeasure. "You're kidding, right? He was trying to hex you behind your back and you're taking him to the hospital wing?" Was Hadley hallucinating or was Harry actually _sounding_ dubious, too? And how did he know what Malfoy had been about to do when Moody set on him? How did he know what Hadley was doing?

"Oh haven't you heard?" Malfoy snarled. "Perfect Hadley Potter, hero of the wizarding world. She has to save _everyone_ doesn't she?"

It was only the knowledge that Malfoy was probably just trying to assuage his wounded pride that kept Hadley from punching him. She settled for glaring at both Slytherin wizards. Honestly! Couldn't Malfoy accept that she was doing something nice? And couldn't Harry stop saying weird things? "You said it yourself, Malfoy. I'm a 'hero', right? Real heroes don't pick and choose who they save, y'know."

Malfoy sneered. "You were shaking like a leaf-"

"And you were being bounced about as a ferret," Hadley snapped back. This week had already been too much, and she still had Defense to "look forward to" later in the week. "Could you just shut up, and make this trip as painless as possible for the both of us? Bye Harry." Hadley started pulling Malfoy with more strength than she thought she had.

Harry stared after her, frowning. "Bye then," his voice was low and Hadley barely caught it.

What she did catch was Malfoy's mutters calling Harry a traitor to the house of Slytherin. When asked later, Hadley was certain Madam Pomphrey believed her when she said that stepping on Malfoy's toes had been a complete accident.

**Author's Note: ****I just (aka May 18, when I was writing this chapter) read an interesting fic, Girl in the War by AstridFire. I don't read many fem!Harry stories, and after reading that one I remembered why. Not because I didn't like that one, but because after reading it I went to go find a fem!Harry community to see how the genre has changed over the years, see what people have come up with.**

**What did I find? Utter shit. Really. The only good fem!Harry fics I've read in a while are Ell Roche's one-shots, Girl in the War (which writes Rose Potter differently than normal (for one she's a child beauty pageant princess)), and Araceil's works where Harry wasn't always a girl (specifically Auryn and Distance). Am I wrong? I want good ones. There are so many things that could be interesting with a girl Harry, but people usually write her as nothing a female Harry would actually be (completely ignoring or changing the circumstances of his childhood) or… Harry with boobs.**

**I want to see a fem!Harry where she's easily tricked into thinking boys love her for her. I want to see a fem!Harry who tries so hard to be a wallflower that she never goes on any dates until she's out of Hogwarts. I want a fem!Harry who's one of the guys, and I want a fem!Harry who's one of the girls. I want a fem!Harry who likes girls but tries being with boys anyway, because it's normal. I want a fem!Harry who won't take no for an answer, who was spoiled rotten by her aunt that always wanted a daughter, who strings boys along and dumps them when she finds a prettier one or she's bored or he's broke. I want a fem!Harry who buckles under the expectations of the wizarding world and gets plastic surgery or something so she can be "beautiful". I want a fem!Harry who is so destroyed by her life with the Dursleys, so desperate for any affection, that she'll do anything to get it.**

**But none of those are Hadley. Because Hadley is curious. Hadley is cautious. Hadley cares too much, even about Malfoy. Hadley is not any of the fem!Harry I want to see written. So someone else needs to write them. And if those have been written, and I mean well-written, I need someone to send them to me. Because I need to read them. So hard.**

**(Between beginning and ending this chapter, I did not sleep… that's about 10k words in one day-ish, since I wrote most of chapter 3 same night. I should really sleep. Four hours of that were spent drawing, including Harry and Hadley. Same image I mentioned in Chapter 1.)**


	5. Hearing Voices

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Joanne Kathleen Rowling and associates, of whom I am not one. This is a rewrite of a fic from 4 years ago.

Warnings: AU, mentions of child abuse, ongoing theme of drug abuse, some character bashing (but only such that it follows canon and canon trends), spoilers through Deathly Hallows, coarse language, some minor OCs.

Chapter 5: Hearing Voices

It was odd, how few people _noticed_ Harry. To anyone below seventh year, he was just another seventh year Slytherin preparing for NEWTs: he didn't pick on younger students or start fights with the Gryffindors, he didn't do anything outside of class to make himself noticed – except occasionally saying hi to Hadley, but a nod in the hallway or a quick word after dinner generally went unnoticed. They didn't comment on him bearing the name Potter, because although the old line of Potter was now only Hadley, there were other minor pureblood families by the name.

After all, to be considered pureblood, one only needed to have all their grandparents be magic. The old lines prided themselves on just how many "greats" they could tack onto that in all directions.

As a child, Harry was always told he looked like his father and had his mother's eyes. Here, Dumbledore had passed him in the hall, smiled, and said he could really see the Evans in him, before walking off.

The seventh years who weren't Slytherin generally ignored Harry. It didn't matter what house they were in, everyone was already bogged down by homework in preparation for NEWTs. The Gryffindors dismissed him out of hand, the Hufflepuffs were busy helping younger students when they weren't working, and the Ravenclaws… well, "academic" was too light a word to describe them in Harry's opinion.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Harry had hoped his roommates in the dungeons would ignore him like their other year mates. There had always been rumors among the Gryffindors, from those with relatives in Slytherin, that the snakes had a hierarchy which could not be circumvented. In each year there was a student who was their face to the rest of the school. For Harry's year – or, now, Hadley's – that was obviously Draco Malfoy. More than half the Slytherins in his year were in his posse: Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Zabini, Nott, and occasionally Greengrass, though she usually kept to herself.

After Hadley's altercation with Malfoy and Moody-Crouch, Harry discovered that was not entirely accurate. The Slytherins, as it turned out, really _were_ sneakier than the likes of Warrington and Malfoy made them seem.

Surrounded as he was, Harry could do nothing but sit in his chair and wait.

There were six seventh year Slytherins, if one included Harry. Graham Montague Harry could remember specifically because Montague had, firstly, failed to achieve three NEWTs at the end of the year. Secondly, Harry recalled him being on the Inquisitorial Squad in fifth year and squealing to Malfoy about the vanishing cabinets at some point, which was apparently how the ferret had managed to sneak in all the Death Eaters in Year 6.

The two girls in the year were Vivian Higgs, the younger sister of Terence Higgs, the former Slytherin Seeker, and a halfblooded girl named Anne Davis. Her younger sister, Tracey, was a Slytherin in Hadleys year. Where Tracey was shunned by her housemates, instead finding companionship with Ravenclaws, and occasionally with the shy Daphne Greengrass, Anne was apparently the right hand of the Slytherin seventh years. The other day, Harry had heard whispers that it was because Anne was only _thought_ to be halfblood, and that her father was important in the Ministry, though he hadn't heard what department. For Tracey, apparently it was very well confirmed that her father had taken a muggle to his bed. Both, however, were bastards, which made many people uncomfortable, supposedly.

Harry didn't really understand that. Illegitimate children weren't uncommon, or so his aunt always whined.

The head of the seventh year Slytherins was Lucian Bole, one of the Slytherin Beaters, as Harry remembered from his first few Quidditch matches. Or, Bole would be, if Quidditch hadn't been cancelled. The other beater, something Derrick, Harry thought, was absent, but Harry knew he shared the same dorm with them.

The fact that there were only six was, oddly, not odd at all. Hadley's class of 40 was apparently the largest in the past ten years, all the years younger than that were similarly larger than recent averages. There were 21 seventh years in total between the houses, a number brought low between the fact that some students had left after OWLs to get simpler jobs, and that to be in this year at Hogwarts meant they were born at the height of the first War with Voldemort. Fewer families wanted to risk having children at the time, apparently, and there were a lot of children killed.

So perhaps an inquisition of four wasn't too intimidating, even if it wasn't just after dinner. Having just taken his serenity solution, Harry felt at peace with himself and the suspicious Slytherins who had him cornered. They were in the potions section of the library, their first NEWT Potions lesson being first thing the following morning, and Bole had kindly snapped Harry's book shut.

Five minutes ago.

"Hullo," Harry said finally. If he could really feel anything, he might have been agitated. Instead he was bored and serene. How… normal.

"So," Bole was tapping his foot on his chair. All the Slytherins had their books out, as if they were going to do homework, but not a single one of them had pulled a quill out. "So. Potter?"

"Yes? And you're Bole, right?" Harry had never actually spoken to Bole, and until becoming classmates – though they only shared one class so far in the week, Transfigurations – had never heard the beater's voice. It wasn't as… gravelly as he expected. Fairly normal actually. Were all Slytherins so normal? Either way, it was less than a week into term, so it was reasonable he wouldn't know the names of even his roommates.

"Right," Bole was eyeing him from across the table. Harry had always thought that, like Warrington, the beaters of Slytherin had been chosen for size rather than any sort of strategy. Looking into Bole's eyes, he had the distinct feeling that that wasn't entirely accurate.

The boy before him might be made of pure muscle, but he obviously had some sort of intelligence.

"Since we haven't explained the rules to you yet, it's our fault rather than yours that you've made your faux pas, Potter," Davis sighed. She was seated sideways in her chair, legs thrown over the arm, and her back was leaned on Higgs's, who mirrored her position. "Every year makes their own rules for what they want Slytherin to be, and our rules that we decided on were very simple. First and foremost, Slytherin is united."

"We don't care about each others' parents' politics," Bole continued. "In the war, my parents were light. Anne's dad was light. The Higgs family moved to France, and both the Montague and Derrick families were vocal in support of pureblood supremacy, if not active. We all know it, and we don't care. The Slytherin class of 1995 is united. We all have ambition beyond our family reputation. We do not talk about politics. We do not accuse so-and-so's parents of doing anything. We aren't like the _fourth years_." Bole twisted his face into a look of disgust when he mentioned them.

"Simply put, Potter, unlike the fifth years who agreed to all compete, and the fourth years who decided to follow the ideals of the Dark Lord himself during their stay, the seventh years work together. We succeed together, we fail together, and we are never seen to be at odds." Montague's gaze was piercing. Suddenly, Harry wondered if _he_ wasn't a total rock head either. He'd certainly been doing well enough in Charms that afternoon. "Every morning, from now on, you will have breakfast with us, and dinner every night unless you have something interfering. We study together during free periods and help each other in our best subjects."

"What do you have to offer?" Bole finished. Harry met his gaze, and thought about it.

So, the upper year Slytherins didn't condone what Malfoy and his lot did, they just didn't care. It was interesting, certainly. If he'd known, back when he was younger, that not every Slytherin was a twat like ferret-face, he might have actually wanted to be in the house. If he'd had the more analytical mind he currently possessed, and he had been in his current house, he could have influenced the behavior of all his year.

He could have used what influence being the Boy-Who-Lived gave him to turn his year of students around, making Malfoy into a decent human being (as if; even when Hadley was helping him he was being snarky, and if Harry had done the same in his own timeline it would have been worse) or at least dissuading his year from having quite so many students take the mark.

He had to admit, seeing Blaise Zabini go to Azkaban had been one of the more surprising sentences after the war's end. He had never previously been on the other boy's bad side.

"I'm good on a broom, and my best subjects are Defense, Potions, and… Divination," Harry finally said. All of those classes happened to have yet to have been had. The fact that most of Harry's classes were in the last two days of the week wasn't very good in terms of scheduling, but he was still hesitant to list Divination as anything. He may have made the decision to use the persona of a budding seer, but taking the role was still new to him, and if he took one wrong step, changed one too many things with his "suggestions"… true, he'd made few so far, but logically there were many things that could go wrong.

Then again, wasn't hesitance just another thing that was good for that particular role?

"Divination? Do people even _take_ that at NEWT level?" Bole was sending him an odd look.

"Dumbledore insisted," Harry shrugged. He knew it would pique their interest. How many students did Dumbledore take a personal interest in before they even started school? And enough so that he actually _insisted_ they take a certain class, let alone Divination? So, they would wonder, why did Dumbledore take that interest? Harry may not have had the training Slytherins obtained from the ground up on these things, or the training the rest of the houses thought they had anyway, but he had learned a lot in two years without feeling.

Feelings were easy to manipulate, and with them, people.

"Well at least you're good at Potions," Davis eyed him. "Most of Slytherin makes an effort to be at least passable. If you don't live up to your word there, expect no mercy from our Head of House."

"As it just so happens, Moody assigned a last minute Defense assignment due tomorrow," Higgs changed the topic suddenly. "You may or may not be aware of this, because the assignment was sent out two weeks before the start of term. He feels that, because the monster who taught us last year neglected to assign anything, and because of the presence of dementors on the grounds last term, that we should have an essay prepared on defense against them. Unfortunately, there isn't enough easily found information on them in our previous texts to write a whole three feet on. Even Peregrine only managed two, and that was with his father's help."

"It's a group study night, and you said you're good at Defense, so what might you know that we don't, or what references would you suggest?" Montague was eyeing Harry now. Harry did, in fact, know about the essay, he got the owl same as everyone else, and had done it on the train to school, having been too busy with putting the finishing touches on his "history" to do so in August. The essay was currently rolled up at the bottom of his bag, with a stiffness charm to keep it from coming unraveled or crumpled.

Writing about dementors and the Patronus was one of the few times where Harry knew what being Hermione was like. He had more than three feet worth of information dancing about in his head, but he had to pick the most important parts.

So Harry asked what his fellows had. They knew what dementors could do, and they knew about the patronus charm, but nothing beyond that. They didn't know that a patronus could be a physical thing that actually fought the dementors rather than just sating their hunger. They didn't know the meaning behind the incantation, or what the creature the spell became represented to the individual. Harry explained it all, but didn't answer when asked if he could perform it.

He could, once. And maybe he still could. He hadn't needed to in years, and he didn't dare try. He could summon memories that were happy, intellectually, but didn't feel them. Would the happiness he _should_ feel count? He doubted it.

By the end of the session, no one had asked about his relation to Hadley. Harry wondered how long it would last.

* * *

Three weeks into term, and Harry was still oddly safe from questions, though Snape had been giving him _looks_ in class. Harry had wondered if it was like his Snape, the Snape from his time, but the men were different. Somehow. Harry couldn't pin his finger on it, but somehow this Snape was _not_ like the Professor he'd grown up with. Curious. Harry put it to the side, thinking perhaps _this_ Snape's motivations were just as Dumbledore had thought they were rather than… well, like his own.

And Divination… well, there was only one other NEWT level student, sixth year Angelina Johnson from Gryffindor, so their combined class was odd. Trelawney was still herself, but their assignments with ancient bone throwing techniques were tedious at best. Harry just wrote down vague things he recalled from his fourth year on the sheet and called it good rather than really trying.

On the Thursday of the third week, on his way down from the North Tower, he ran into Hadley, Hermione, and Ron. He had only met this Ron and Hermione once so far, during the first weekend, but they seemed very similar to his Ron and Hermione. Perhaps Hadley was closer to Hermione than Harry had been, and Ron didn't like Harry much due to his house, but they were otherwise as expected.

For this second meeting, Ron and Hermione were debating something regarding the lesson they had just left, Defense, and Harry recalled that this was the week where Crouch had put his students under the Imperius curse. He thought he had heard murmurings among some sixth years in the library earlier, but had dismissed them.

"Harry, has Moody… has Professor Moody performed any magic on your class?" Hadley asked. Ron didn't seem to want to approach, and Hermione, apparently realizing this, kept their conversation an extra few feet away from where the Potters stood.

"Not yet, but I expect he will tomorrow," Harry looked her over. Hadley was shaken, perhaps, but whole. "He should have sent waiver forms to parents and guardians, you lot aren't old enough to give him permission to do… that. If no one else has, maybe you should report it to Professor McGonagall. Professor C- er, Professor Moody isn't taking his probation seriously."

Hadley frowned, but nodded. She glanced back at Ron and Hermione and continued in a lower voice. "If he does, I mean, cast it at you… would you tell me if you hear voices?" There was something timid in her voice. "A few years ago, Ron said that hearing voices was a bad thing. That… wasn't what he thought it was. But I want to know for sure if what happened for me today was normal, and I don't want to make Ron and Hermione worried."

"Of course," Harry put on a small smile. He wanted to tell her that voices were normal, and he had heard them, but his story didn't include encounters with dark wizards and he would have no experience with unforgiveable curses. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, Hadley."

The next day, walking into class, Harry knew that McGonagall had not yet been told of anything untoward. The weekly report on "Moody's" behavior towards students in class would not be sent to her, the Headmaster, and the Board of Governor's until Saturday, and Harry supposed Hadley was either waiting to bring it up with her Head of House in favor of finding out if the Voice was normal, or else she trusted in the integrity of the monitoring spells around the room.

Harry was willing to bet it was because she wanted to ask him about the voices later though. After all, the NEWT class, consisting of all but five of the seventh year students, was the last class over third year to have Defense any given week. If the younger students could hack it, so could they.

As previously commanded by his year mates, Harry sat with them on the east side of the room. He sat adjacent to Montague and behind Derrick, who was apparently the best Defense student in their year. He also tended to get detentions from Vector once or twice a week which, Harry was later informed, was why he hadn't been present at the confrontation during the first week.

There wasn't any reason to not sit with his housemates, Harry supposed. They weren't like Malfoy, and he didn't know any of the seventh years outside of his house. The oldest students who would be attending now that Harry had associated with in his younger years were Angelina Johnson and Cedric Diggory, the two oldest sixth years as they had birthdays coming up that very weekend. So Harry really had _no_ reason to deny the rather reasonable demand of a united Slytherin seventh year.

A heavy thud signaled Crouch's arrival into the room. He was just finishing a swig of his polyjuice potion as he limped in. Harry wondered at that. Dumbledore should have noticed, really. When Harry met the real Mad-Eye, the man didn't limp despite his bad knee and wooden leg. He was agile and smooth in movement, whereas Crouch was still very unfamiliar with his fake appendage.

"As you may have heard from other upper classes, I've got special permission from the Headmaster," Crouch growled, and Harry wanted to say _no you haven't_ but refrained, "to perform what is considered the 'most forgivable unforgiveable' on students aged 14 and higher. That phrase is a _lie_. Personally, if I had the choice between instantaneous death, unspeakable torture, and having control stolen from my body, I would pick death every time. And if I had to pick two, I would still never choose to have the Imperius Curse cast on me.

"Except for the fact that the Imperius Curse can be fought." Crouch's blue eyed swiveled wildly as the beady black one met the gaze of each and every student before him. "You cannot fight death except to get out of the way, same with the Cruciatus Curse. No matter what you do, with those two curses, the only factor once those spells hit is the power and will of your opponent. Before your magical majority, performing either of those curses is exceedingly difficult, and even after there are many wizards who can't summon the intent to kill or torture someone into insanity.

"But the Imperius Curse is a battle of wills. True, the aggressor has the upper hand, but with _constant vigilance_ you can be aware the moment the spell hits you, and you stand the chance, if you have the will to do it, to escape the spell's grasp. Not many people can do it, but there are those who can do it effortlessly, those who can escape the spell given enough time, or your attacker may not pay their spell enough attention. Unfortunately, this spell doesn't require intent, so it is possible for younger wizards to use it. All that's needed is for the wizard to have an idea in mind, something for their victim to do, and enough willpower to dominate their subject. Their willpower is multiplied when they cast the spell. They have the advantage. If a powerful enough wizard casts the spell on you with their full will, you can't hope to escape."

Silence settled on the room. Crouch continued eyeing his students as he paced, the dull "thok" of his wooden leg the only sound in the room for a good minute.

"If you do not want to be put under this spell, you may leave, but I don't suggest it," Crouch's mouth slid into a lop-sided grin. "You have to know what you're fighting to fight it. You have to know what it feels like, or you'll just float away on a cloud while your body kills innocents. If you want to leave, do it now. If you want to have a fighting chance, line up."

Everyone stood and dutifully lined up. A Hufflepuff girl fidgeted nervously, but stood resolutely in her place at the front of the line. The Slytherins had chosen a diplomatic middle, between a pair of Gryffindors and the three Ravenclaws who were in the class. Harry was placed at the front of the line of Slytherins.

"So far only two students have been able to throw off the curse, a sixth year Hufflepuff and a fourth year Gryffindor," Crouch stated. His eyes were locked on the girl at the front of the line. No one questioned who the second was, and Harry speculated that the first might be Cedric Diggory. "Let's see if the seventh years have anything better to offer. Imperio!"

The girl immediately started singing the National Anthem and, after half a minute, was released from the curse in shame.

The next five students, a mix of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, showed a bit more promise, as a few were hesitant as their went into their various gymnastics routines, and one boy aborted his barking for a whole two seconds before it turned into a dog's low whimper instead.

When Harry strode forward confidently, it was most certainly not because he had a good set of examples to follow. But, then, he had been throwing off this curse with great success for four years now, so he could hardly be blamed.

If Harry were capable of displaying emotion, he was sure there would have been challenge in his eyes as he locked gazes with Crouch. Instead, his gaze was flat, empty, waiting.

He was not disappointed.

The world was suddenly blanketed in cotton. It felt like someone had stuffed his ears with the stuff, the sounds of the classroom heavily muffled. His gaze was suddenly fuzzy despite the frameless glasses perched on his nose, to the point where Crouch was a very vague blur. His mouth, too, was filled with cotton, his body wrapped in it.

Everything was soft, light, and comfortable.

"_Do a handstand_," said a voice in Harry's head. He could hear, now, that it was the voice of Barty Crouch Jr., rather than that of Alastor Moody, but didn't care much. He never cared much. He waited, waited for the second voice to appear and tell Crouch off, that he didn't want to do a handstand.

"_Do a handstand_," Crouch's voice repeated. Harry really didn't feel like it though. Sure, he was pretty comfortable in this little abyss, but that didn't mean he wanted to do everything he was told. What was the point? He wasn't getting any enjoyment out of this, he couldn't feel happy to begin with. There was nothing in it for him and _why wasn't the second voice telling Crouch off?_

"_Do a handstand,_" this time the voice was harsh and demanding. Something in Harry broke, just a little.

"No, sir," Harry's voice rang out in the room and the cotton world was pierced suddenly by the sound of his voice. Not just in his head by the voice of reason he had come to rely on, but he could hear his voice, and feel his mouth form the words.

Crouch's lop-sided smile focused in his vision. "Good job, lad. Next!"

Harry retreated to his desk, watching as his housemates all tried with various levels of success – only Derrick joining Harry in breaking free of the curse – to keep themselves from doing something embarrassing. He didn't pay them much mind though, instead thinking about why there hadn't been that voice.

He hadn't been put under Imperius since before he started taking his potions. Could they have suppressed the voice by not making it care? But that didn't really make sense. If the voice only an extension of his will, then the potion wouldn't have killed it. He still had desires after all. Wanting was not one of the things that the serenity solution or calming draught would have gotten rid of. Wanting freedom was still a reality for him.

So what about his mind had changed?

Leaving the room almost an hour later, after he and Derrick were made to explain how it felt to escape the spell to their classmates and Crouch gave a more in-depth lecture on the curse, Harry felt the idea click in his head.

Had his success ridden on the horcrux that had once been in his head? Other things had changed after all. He knew he couldn't speak parseltongue very well anymore. Well, he could speak a little, and he'd heard a snake hissing and had a vague idea of what it was saying, but it was like how Hermione described her attempts to learn Bulgarian. He understood snippets but not enough to really understand.

Other than that… well, his scar had faded to nothing, and he didn't have a window into Voldemort's head.

So it stood to reason that the "voice" had been the horcrux. If there was anyone who wanted to be controlled less than Harry, it would be Voldemort. Even the tiniest fraction of the Dark Lord's soul would balk at the idea of its vessel being controlled by an outside source.

When Harry and Hadley met, later that day, he would tell her he heard the voice too, and wonder what other effects the horcrux had on him, on her, that they hadn't thought of.

* * *

Only a few days after the last round of Moody cursing students, his probation was made stricter than ever. A Ministry appointed assistant had been assigned to keep him in line, once several student complaints, parent complaints, and the complaints of the Heads of Houses had been heard. The assistant was a freshly minted auror named Tonks who had apparently been a seventh year Hufflepuff during Hadley's first year, given her reception when she arrived.

Tonks was an odd woman, her hair changed color faster than Hadley knew a color changing spell could be used. The twins explained to her that some people had magical abilities above and beyond the norm, and that Tonks had the ability to change her appearance. Fred said that no one knew how extensive her mastery of the ability was, but George added that he remembered, in their second year, that she got a month's detention for sneaking into the boys' locker room during a Quidditch practice so she could make her transformations "more realistic".

The only reason she got caught was because she hadn't had a great grasp on her ability yet, so her hair changed to a dusky pink to match her blushing cheeks at the time.

Hadley decided she liked the young auror though. She was quick to reprimand Professor Moody, despite the fact that she seemed in a bit of awe with him, and when she helped teach lessons she told students ideas she had always had for remembering certain spells, and what she had learned about using _creative_ spells in a duel while in training. One of her tips had even helped Hadley finally get the hang of the summoning charm, when she tried to use it in a practice duel to hit someone with something behind them, and Neville was able to perform a disarming charm in class when asked.

There were many who would have preferred that Moody were simply sacked, but there was no one else to teach. Auror Tonks didn't have the qualifications, and no one had applied for the job that year. Moody had only taken it as a favor to his old friend Dumbledore.

Hadley had even managed to get Auror Tonks to tell her what some of the legal mumbo-jumbo in her parents' will meant, so she had a better idea of what to expect when it was executed in July.

Otherwise, life was fairly normal leading up to Hallowe'en. True, there was no Quidditch, and that was a right travesty. Without the excuse of Quidditch practice, Hadley found it hard to let Hermione just let her go out for a fly, and there was no one to fly with since Ron didn't have a broom and the twins, though only in sixth year, still had NEWT work to do. They rarely had time to even offer to fly with her.

So Hadley's time passed with a lot of school work, a lot of chess with Ron, the start of Hermione's campaign for house elf freedom, and very little else.

It was all _dreadfully_ boring.

But finally it was the day before Hallowe'en and the students of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons arrived. The chariot bearing the French students was very large, and the abraxans – Hermione whispered that that was what breed the winged horses were – were all rather magnificent. The woman who stepped out, Madame Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons, was as tall as Hagrid but not so broad, and the students who followed her, eight all told, were all very attractive. There was one Ron could not take his eyes from, a blonde girl who Hadley was immediately jealous of.

But compared to Durmstrang, Beauxbatons was nothing. Not because the old galleon ship rising from the water like a pirate ship from hell was more impressive (though it was), but because of the people. Their Headmaster wasn't terribly amazing, a middle aged eastern European man with a scraggly beard and thin frame. But the students…

Hadley blushed as she eyed them. Even with the furs, she could tell that the five boys in the group were all quite fit, all of them handsome, not least of all _Viktor Krum_ himself! And she was jealous of the girls too. While she could be jealous of the pale haired girl from Beauxbatons for things she could never have, the two girls who came from Durmstrang were something she could aspire to. Their darker coloration better matched her own, certainly.

The next day, Hadley walked into the Entrance Hall on her way to lunch and spied the Weasley twins standing triumphantly at the edge of the Age Line that was meant to prevent underage students from entering the competition.

"Finished brewing it this morning, we did," George laughed. Or Hadley thought it was George. Sometimes she could tell, others she had no bloody clue. "Just a couple of drops and we'll join the ranks of contenders for the Triwizard Cup!"

"Angelina and Diggory can't be the _only_ sixth years that should be allowed to try out, yeah?" Fred grinned brightly, raising a few laughs and cheers from the small crowd they drew. Hadley, Ron, and Hermione drew closer, one less pleased by the antics than the other two.

"Honestly, if the Age Line were that easy to trick, I don't think Dumbledore would have used that," Hermione snapped at them. "He drew it himself. If the way around it were that simple I'm sure he would have come up with something to stop that working either!"

"But that's why it's bound to work," Fred shrugged. He pulled the stopper from George's phial of aging potion.

"Because it's so _obvious_!" George smirked as he returned the favor for his brother and, in sync, they drained the phials dry. "On the count of three! One!"

"Two!" Fred called out.

"Three!" The twins called and leaped over the line. Their feet touched ground two feet inside the line, still five away from the cup itself. Hadley couldn't see their faces from her angle, but knew they must be grinning.

A second later a loud bang sounded and the twins were thrown back into the crowd. They rose groggily, only to treat the rest of the hall to the sight of their new Merlin-esque beards.

The laughing was so loud, Hadley almost missed Dumbledore's entrance, and Harry's behind him.

Dumbledore reprimanded the twins lightly, bidding that they visit the hospital wing to get rid of their "commendable" beards. Hadley, however, had her eye on Harry as he trotted through the crowd unnoticed, over the age line, and up to the cup where he dropped a scrap of parchment and left just as quickly. No fanfare, no ceremony, he just dropped it in while everyone else was distracted.

Hadley beckoned him to come back to her part of the group surrounding the cup, and he did.

"Good luck," was really all she wanted to say.

"Montague and Bole both put their names in, so has a sixth year whose birthday was last week but I don't know her name," Harry told her without any real reason to it. Or she didn't see that reason. "The other schools did it all together this morning. Something's going to go wrong tonight though. Being surprised will work in your favor, but I thought you should know that much."

Harry walked away before Hadley could say anything, her "good luck" still stuck in her throat. She swallowed it, heavily. If something was going to go wrong, she needed all her "luck" for herself.

Hadley wondered when she had started taking Harry's little warnings to heart.

That night, after the Hallowe'en feast, Dumbledore stood beside the Triwizard Cup as it flared red and spat out scorched pieces of paper for him to read out. The first to leave the room was Viktor Krum. Hadley noticed he walked a little oddly, but she thought he made up with it with how he flew as if he were born in the air.

The next to leave was the Beauxbatons girl who Hadley had been so jealous of her looks. Ron's eyes were riveted on "Fleur Delacour", as were many male eyes in the room, and Hadley shared a giggle with Hermione over their friend's apparent liking for "the way she walks".

The room waited to find out the Hogwarts Champion, as that was who most of the school cared about. Would the Champion be a brave Gryffindor who would face any challenge without flinching? Would it be a hard-working Hufflepuff, whose determination to reach the end would serve them well? Or an intelligent Ravenclaw whose mental list of spells was inexhaustible? Or would it be a resourceful Slytherin whose strategies could wiggle through any challenge?

The goblet flared red and the assembled students waited with bated breath. Dumbledore took the paper out of the air and read it aloud for all to hear the name of their champion, "Cedric Diggory!"

Cheers rose up from most tables, though she noticed some of the younger Slytherins, particularly those in Hadley's year, were less than pleased. Oddly, she saw that the ones Harry sat with, the seventh years, were all clapping enthusiastically, and Harry's were a bit… slower than she might have thought. True, he was never terribly enthusiastic, but he should be able to get into _this_ at least, unless he was really so disappointed at not being made Champion? None of the other contenders seemed half so disappointed as he.

Hadley shrugged it off and, as Dumbledore spoke, her mind trailed off to think of what she would talk with Hermione and Ron about later. And what the girls in the dorm would be talking about when they retired for the night. Probably how handsome Krum and Diggory were and wondering what Delacour did with her hair that made it flutter so and still settle untangled.

It wasn't until Hermione shook her shoulder that she recalled Harry's warning. Something was going to go wrong.

"Hadley Potter!"

Yes, something had gone _very_ wrong.

**Author's Note: I wrote this chapter from the time I posted chapter one until the time before I posted chapter two. Do you know how much it sucks to write a chapter and know it won't be read for a month? I guess this is why I normally update as I write… Anyway, updates are obviously on Wednesdays, as you've no doubt figured out by now. It should continue on like that for a while, but you won't know when it stops until a Wednesday goes by unmarked by an update… unless I realize beforehand and tell you lot that I'm out of buffer chapters.**

**Received my reviews for chapter 1 (7 reviews for less than 300 reads? That's a high percentage! No really it is) while writing this chapter. Fun times. I was also at Wonder Northwest (2 day comicon in Portland, OR – every other con in the country was 4 day, and I wish I lived in London so I could have gone to MCM (so many artists I love were there…) but oh well!). While there, I got a new psx memory card, so I will be replaying Final Fantasy IX, and in all likelihood writing a short FFIX/HP fic. So happy. (Also bought Ratchet & Clank, some buttons, and had fun running around as Edd from Ed Edd 'n' Eddy day 1 and a prate day 2.)**

**In other news… any progress on finding me stories with actually interesting fem!Harry? Seriously, I would love to find (well written) stories with fem!Harry who are like the ones I mentioned last chapter. I started a C2 on a second account to house any interesting ones. Any C2 I have found was full of terrible terrible things that had no business being read.**


	6. A Spectator Sport

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Joanne Kathleen Rowling and associates, of whom I am not one. This is a rewrite of a fic from 4 years ago.

Warnings: AU, mentions of child abuse, ongoing theme of drug abuse, some character bashing (but only such that it follows canon and canon trends), spoilers through Deathly Hallows, coarse language, some minor OCs.

Chapter 6: A Spectator Sport

It was killing him, just thinking about it. Harry hadn't really had much planned for the coming school year. He knew that Voldemort had to come back by the blood ritual at the end of the Tournament, if only so that there wasn't some worse attempt the year following. But he had wanted to join the tournament and protect Cedric, and maybe break Hadley out of Wormtail's clutches early, too.

He had won the tournament before. He had saved the world from Voldemort. If anyone was going to be the Hogwarts Champion, _why wasn't it him_?

Cedric was great, sure. Cedric was kind and brave and smart, smarter than Harry had ever been. But even "just Harry" could admit that he had skills that others in the school most certainly lacked. How many students could cast a corporeal patronus? True, he might not know if he still could, but he had been capable at one time.

Harry couldn't feel, but there was something in him that railed against the idea that he wasn't involved, that he wasn't… that he wasn't as _special_ as he always, modestly, claimed he wasn't. His serenity solution kept his pulse low, but his body was otherwise still reacting as if his heart raced when he tried to wrestle with the idea that this year, whatever happened, the events weren't revolving around him.

He had always said he was "just Harry", and he certainly hated the fame associated with his name back home, but being nobody _hurt_ in a way his potion could not quite contain.

To keep himself busy and protect the integrity of his serenity, Harry started drawing up a plan for dealing with the horcruxes, starting on November first. The easiest to get, he thought, would be the diadem. It was in the castle, and when he realized he had lost much of his ability with parseltongue he had tried to open the Chamber once, at his old Hogwarts, to see if he could still do that much. He could, apparently his tongue still knew the word "open" if he tried hard enough, so he knew that was an option. After all, Ron and Hermione had destroyed the cup using the basilisk.

The ring he would probably ask for Dumbledore's help with, at least getting through the enchantments. Harry knew next to nothing about wards, he had hired a warding firm out to give basic security to his apartments after all. There were bound to be dark things on that ring, the second of Voldemort's horcruxes.

He realized, then, that there were two sets of the Deathly Hallows here now. He had one set, his Elder Wand disguised to look made of yew to prevent any awkward questions from Dumbledore, the ring he kept in his snitch, and the Cloak of Invisibility passed down through the family. He hadn't really thought much on it before, but what would happen if he did take possession of the ring a second time?

What would happen if, as he had, Hadley had to become the Master of Death to survive all of this?

Could there _be_ two masters? Would him being a Master of Death prevent her from taking the position and get her killed? Or would she take the title and he would lose it?

Or was Master of Death the mythical part of the tale that held no real world significance? It could just be a title. He hoped it was just a title. Nothing had happened to indicate it wasn't, aside from his second survival of the Killing Curse, and that could just be attributed to the fact that he was the rightful master of the wand. Malfoy defeated Dumbledore, Harry defeated Dumbledore, and Voldemort half-killed but did not defeat Harry. Harry had let himself be beaten, so it wasn't a beating.

There was no evidence that Master of Death really meant anything. So maybe it wouldn't interfere with that part of Hadley's life, if it had to come to pass.

Sweet Circe he needed to increase his dosage. Already? Harry could feel emotion itching at him, and it wasn't yet lunch time. Maybe he should change to two three-quarter doses at dinner and breakfast. That wouldn't do any harm, though maybe two-thirds would be safer. That sounded better. A slower ease into it.

But he pushed that away. He had to stop _thinking_ about that. What he needed to think about were safe things. Horcruxes. Killing Voldemort. He didn't know if Voldemort had given Bellatrix the Cup before his defeat or after his resurrection, so it would have to wait. The locket was at Grimmauld Place and out of his reach until the next summer, assuming he could get into the Order.

Who was he kidding? If he kept up his "Seeing" throughout the year, he would be far on Dumbledore's good side and considered an asset to the Order by the time they reformed. It wouldn't be hard at all.

It was almost two weeks after Hallowe'en. Harry tossed a blanket over the diadem resting on the ugly bust in the Room of Requirements. He didn't want to touch it if he could help it. He bundled it up, casting a charm to keep it that way, before pulling his invisibility cloak out of his bottomless bag and shoving the diadem in. The trip to Myrtle's bathroom was largely uninterrupted, as it was only a free hour for sixth years not taking Defense, seventh years not taking Runes, and Ravenclaw first years.

He entered the pipes, slid down, and at length destroyed the horcrux without fanfare. Unlike the locket, it didn't try to tempt him with visions of glory or shame. The diadem just sat there, but when the fang that still lay on the ground (undoubtedly used before to pierce the diary horcrux) was used to pierce it, the screams and warped smoke clouds were unmistakable as the same.

Harry tucked the diadem in his bag, warped as it was, after using an aguamenti to rinse it off. Then it was a few minutes as he pulled out his Firebolt and flew to freedom. Myrtle must have been in the lake again, because he didn't hear her sobbing, and she didn't call him out.

Honestly, Harry thought that had to be the easiest of all the horcruxes to destroy. He made a mental note to turn over the chunk of warped metal to the Headmaster in the next few days and leave another cryptic warning or some such. He recalled some of the specifics of his conversation with the man's portrait, particularly that right after the first task was when he had decided to charm Harry to feel emotions stronger. Italways seemed like girls did that anyway, and he figured Hadley would appreciate him warning the Headmaster off of it if she knew about it. She wouldn't though, no one would, he was certain.

That evening was another Slytherin group study session. Harry and Bole worked on Care of Magical Creatures work together – thankfully, the Skrewts seemed to be a fourth and fifth year project only – while the other four did Herbology work. In the middle, however, Bole set down his quill and everyone else followed suit. Even Harry, as it was almost routine to follow Bole's little gestures. It made living with the other boy easier.

"We have a decision to make today, based on the action of the fourth years," Bole informed them. "Malfoy has approached me and gave me a 'button' for each of us to wear on our robes to show support for the Hogwarts Champion. He and many other students began wearing them about this morning. However, the decision we make will be more than simply support of Hogwarts. Peregrine?"

Derrick pulled a button out of his pocket and set it on the table. Harry recognized it immediately. He had forgotten about Malfoy's little smear campaign in all honesty.

"It is solely in support of Diggory and, when pushed, the button changes to saying a variety of unflattering phrases about Potter," Bole explained. He clicked the button and rather than the expected "Potter stinks" it read "Potter Puts Out!"

The girls hissed and even Harry winced. He supposed girls were easier to make fun of than boys. He wondered how Hadley had reacted to seeing that. Ron would have punched Malfoy in the…

Oh. He had forgotten entirely about their falling out. That _had_ been Dumbledore's motivation for the emotion compulsion, hadn't it? And, now he thought of it, he hadn't talked to Hadley since he put his name in the goblet.

"I will not wear that button," Harry declared before any debate could begin. "I refuse to slander the name of my cousin." Quite a few eyebrows quirked in his direction and Harry realized something else – none of his housemates had actually bothered asking him about Hadley yet, and he had not felt the need to inform them unless asked. Too late now.

"Seventh year Slytherin stands together; I will not cause Potter undue discomfort by insisting he slander his blood," Higgs picked up her quill again, dipping it in her inkwell. "I vote no."

The rest of the group said much the same, and that night in the common room Bole handed Malfoy back the buttons, thanking him for the gesture, but saying that the seventh year would not condone his actions. A few younger years of Slytherin took the lead of the oldest students, one particularly brave halfblood boy in second year chucking the button he had been given into the common room fire.

Harry, meanwhile, realized he needed to reacquaint himself with what was going on in Hadley's life.

* * *

It was a relief, Hadley supposed, that Ron didn't _laugh_ about Malfoy's buttons. She wanted to explode or cry or punch the ferret-faced boy when she saw what they read when pressed – and it seemed they came with a variety of messages depending on how much they wanted to make her _hurt_, as at least the Ravenclaws wearing them didn't say things implying she was _sexually_ active or anything – but when it came to blows and Hermione was the one hurt in the end, Hadley wished she could curl up and hide somewhere.

Hermione was just about the only person who was really on her side. Sure, some of her housemates still talked to her and told her to show what Gryffindor was made of, but Ron had been her first friend and he had ditched her as soon as he could.

It was almost a relief when Colin Creevey interrupted the lesson to take her away for (horror of horrors) an interview for the Daily Prophet and an examination of wands.

Unfortunately, the reporter in the room snatched Hadley up before she could protest.

"Now Hadley dear – you don't mind if I call you Hadley, do you? No? Good – why _did_ you enter this tournament?" Rita Skeeter was a scary woman. Her make-up was done perfectly to make her look anywhere from twenty to sixty, her bottle blond ringlet curls set close to her head to make her face look a bit rounder and friendlier. Her teeth gleamed even in the low light of the closet, and the rhinestones in her glasses somehow didn't look ridiculous.

The only thing that belied her nature was the acid green quill scribbling every word that was and was not said.

"I didn't put my name in the Goblet," Hadley frowned. "I don't want to be here, but the Headmaster told me that to get out I would have to drop out of school and have my wand snapped."

"Now _Hadley_, no need to be coy," Rita smiled that poisonous smile as the quill whipped back and forth. "I'm sure some people have told you you ought to be a good girl, but readers love a good scandal. I'm sure you read Witch Weekly? If not you really should get a subscription. Oh, my readers will just eat you up! Do scratch that last bit."

Hadley frowned again and glanced at what the quill was writing. "I'm fourteen, not twelve," she grumbled, but Skeeter went on.

"Now here's what readers really want to know Hadley," Skeeter pulled her glasses down her nose and smiled in what Hadley supposed was meant to be a warming way, but if felt more like a cat about to catch a bird. "Do you have your eye on any boys? Perhaps Viktor Krum? Or your fellow Hogwarts Champion, the dashing Diggory boy? He's certainly not hard on the eyes, and I hear he's the only boy to ever beat you in Quidditch."

Hadley sputtered, and the interview went on without any input from her.

The article released the next morning was full of things Hadley never said, all the boys she wanted to date, most of them celebrities in some way (many of whom, such as the singer for the Weird Sisters, she had never even heard of) such as Krum, with the "wistful " desire to see if Cedric Diggory was a bad boy underneath his wholesome façade. It read more like Skeeter's own perverted fantasies of pursuing men too young for her than anything Hadley would ever say, and the other champions were only afterthoughts when they weren't the subject of "Hadley's" lust. Apparently the rest of the school didn't think so though, because quite a few boys approached her to ask if she wanted a "good time", though mostly to make fun of her, and quite a few girls hexed her in the halls.

It was with eyebrows a foot long and purple warts all down her arms that Hadley sat on a bed in the Hospital Wing, waiting for Madame Pomfrey to attend her, and trying not to cry.

That was how Harry found her.

And it was a case of Harry finding her, she could tell. He was uninjured, not noticeably ill, and nothing on him was weird colors. He didn't bother Madame Pomfrey, making a beeline directly for Hadley's bedside and sitting promptly in the visitor's chair beside her bed.

"'Lo Harry," Hadley mumbled glumly as she pushed her eyebrows behind her ears to keep them out of her eyes. They weren't completely out of the way, but it was something. For half a moment she wished the cosmetic hexes on her were more like the long-tooth one Hermione had been on the receiving end yesterday, something the fixing of could be manipulated to improve her appearance. It didn't seem any boys their year noticed Hermione's shrunken teeth, except perhaps Neville, but Lavender had pointed it out after dinner last night and Hermione had been the envy of the other girls with her now-perfect teeth.

Still, any hexing was cruel, so she supposed she was lucky Professor Flitwick saw her get hit in the halls and sent her to the Hospital Wing when he did.

"Between the knowledge that an article about the Triwizard Tournament came out today and who the author is, I can guess what happened," Harry smiled at her, but as always there was something wrong with it. It didn't reach his eyes. If he had done anything else odd, Hadley would have been worried about Harry being – oh, she didn't know, a golem or something. Were golems real? Probably. As it was, he was just a bit creepy. But they hardly interacted, and that was just fine for her.

"Some upper years who thought I had my eye on their boyfriends, because of what that horrible woman wrote," Hadley gave as her explanation. "I'm not going to blame them. You're supposed to believe the papers, aren't you? Uncle Vernon always complained about the Daily Mail, but anything from the BBC was usually good information."

"Mm, well, aside from silly magazines like Witch Weekly, the only competition the Prophet has is the Quibbler," Harry paused. Hadley certainly didn't consider Witch Weekly "competition" for the Prophet, considering they both hired Skeeter and she was sure they had similar, if not the same, ownership. "Calling it competition is off though. It's… sort of a conspiracy magazine with little bits of real news in it. There's a Ravenclaw a year below you, blond hair, big eyes, you should ask her about that one."

Hadley thought she had seen such a girl. This wasn't the first time Harry had encouraged her to interact with someone in particular, either. He suggested that she try partnering Neville in Herbology.

Until the day she decided to take his advice, she hadn't really thought there was anything Neville was _good_ at, but apparently he had top scores in Herbology, both in practical and theory, even beating out Hermione in that subject. Not that anyone knew, since only the top five overall students of a year were really publicized to the rest, and Neville certainly didn't fit that bill. Hadley knew he wouldn't dream of standing with the likes of Hermione, Malfoy, and Padma Patil on that list.

"Maybe," Hadley hedged. It was odd having someone who wasn't Hermione, Neville, or the twins talking to her and not being openly hostile. True, some of her housemates weren't, and some were even proud, but there were still bitter undertones even in Gryffindor. When she escaped from the "victory" party after she was chosen, apparently other students thought she was taking it for granted or didn't want to make the house proud or something.

"Sorry I haven't seen you, I've been busy," Harry's tone wasn't the least bit apologetic of course. Hadley had only seen him at meals, sort of. The times their paths usually intersected between classes had all but vanished.

"It's okay," Hadley didn't look at him though. It wasn't okay. It was really not okay at all. Only Hermione and sometimes Neville talked to her. Ron ignored her at best, insulted her at worst. And they had their detention in a few hours, which Hadley knew would be awful. Although she was closer to Hermione, losing Ron was a blow.

He was like her brother, and the moment she gets more unwanted fame, that's when he decides to be rid of her. It hurt more than the basilisk bite to her arm in second year.

Harry hummed and tapped his chin. "Do you know what the coming task is yet?" he asked. Hadley shook her head. None of the champions were supposed to know before the task itself, as it was a task of bravery and resourcefulness. Harry stood up, his ever-present school bag slung over his shoulder. "You will soon. Until then, look up flame retardant spells. And when you do, feel free to ask me for more specific help. You may not want to be in this tournament, but… well, you are. You might as well win. I have class, see you."

Harry sauntered out of the Wing, leaving Hadley to purse her lips, tuck back her eyebrows again, and wait for Madame Pomfrey's aid.

* * *

Hadley's fellow students did not stop their heckling as the task drew nearer. On the day of the Hogsmeade trip, only a few days before the First Task, Hadley opted to stay in rather than leave. She didn't need some girl who thought Hadley wanted her ugly boyfriend, or worse, some boy who thought she was going to do _things_ with him. And didn't that just make her want to throw up! She was barely fourteen, and already the world was starting to think she was a- a _slut_ like Petunia always called her mother.

She didn't need any more damage done, psychological or otherwise, before her conversation with Sirius that evening.

Hermione rushed back earlier than expected. She had taken care to get everything Hadley had asked for – chocolate, because it was "that time of the month", green ink, a book about techniques for starting and stopping various magical fires, and a few bottles of butterbeer from the Three Broomsticks – but obviously hadn't done much else. It was hardly half-two when she arrived back at the common room, long before anyone else.

"Hagrid says to meet him tonight and bring your cloak," Hermione was huffing and puffing as she collapsed into the chair beside Hadley's. "I don't know why, but he was with Professor Moody. They both said you should go, but not let anyone know."

Hadley frowned. "It's Hagrid I'm to meet though, isn't it? Not – not Professor Moody?" Hadley shuddered a little. The man still terrified her. It was only Auror Tonks' presence that made class bearable for her.

"Yes, I made sure to ask him, though if you go…" Hermione dropped her voice lower. Dennis Creevey was sitting rather close by, tapping some of Malfoy's buttons with his wand. He and his brother had taken it upon themselves to preserve Hadley's virtue, since no one else in the house care to do so, "Well, hopefully if you do it won't interfere with you meeting Sirius, but I can stay up in the common room to talk to him if he arrives before you do."

Hadley smiled gently at her friend. "You're the best, Hermione. I really don't tell you that enough."

From there, Hermione helped Hadley with the clue Harry had given her. Fire. They poured through the new book, since all they found in the Hogwarts library had been the charm used during the witch burnings that made flames tickle instead of burn, the Flame Freezing charm. But that only worked on flames cast from the basic fire charm, which they didn't even know though it looked simple enough, and fires started the muggle way. It wouldn't have even protected Hadley from Hermione's bluebell flames.

There were so many ways to protect from so many kinds of fire though, that by the time Hadley left with her cloak and the map, she still had no idea which one she should learn.

Her eyes scanned the part of the map showing the grounds, glad to see that only Hagrid and Fang were at his hut, and Moody's dot was safely in his office. Oddly, Bartemius Crouch was in the room with him. Hadley had heard he used to be the Head of Magical Law Enforcement back when Moody was Head Auror. Perhaps they were friends of some sort.

Hadley also noted Harry Potter walking about in the dungeons, seemingly from a potions practice room back to his common room. It was always just a little reassuring to see that that was his name, that he told the truth. Dumbledore confirmed they were related maternally by the blood wards, but it was good to know that he hadn't lied about his name.

At length, Hadley found Hagrid, and found out she was chaperoning his date with "Olympe" – also known as Madame Maxime. Hadley followed them, grudgingly until she saw fire. And she saw dragons. And she heard Charlie Weasley himself talking about the task, the basics of what they had to do.

The Girl-Who-Lived swallowed heavily as she made her way back to the common room, nearly tripping over the Durmstrang Headmaster, and a bit dazed as she held her conversation with Sirius. He seemed curious about her cousin, but said they could talk about him another time. It was as he was about to give her some tips for fighting a dragon that she heard steps of the stairs and had to shoo her godfather away. She missed him so much and…

And _Ron_ had to ruin it.

If they had still be friends, Ron would have taken the same position on the boys' stairs that Hermione had on the girls', making sure that no one came down, or if they did that Hadley had sufficient warning. She wouldn't have had to worry about interruptions from that half of the tower. But no. Even if they weren't on good terms, at least Hadley knew that if Ron hated her so much that he would tattle on Sirius he would have done so by now.

She had ended her second ever conversation with her godfather over _nothing_.

Two days later, Hadley managed to send Cedric a note telling him what the task was. Since the Headmasters of the other two schools had already seen, their students had to know, and leaving Cedric out of the loop that they had to fight dragons would have been unfair. Hadley might have preferred to talk to Cedric in person, but if anyone saw they would assume that she – scrawny, short, underdeveloped Hadley Potter – was trying to seduce her fellow Champion.

Instead, she charmed a note into a small bird – wit Hermione's help of course – and it flitted to land in Cedric's bag. It had her signature at the bottom, so he would know the relevance and if he needed to he could contact her too, but otherwise there was no sign that it was from her. She'd even used Hermione's special parchment she always used for her final essay drafts.

And yet Moody had known. He must have had a free period, so Tonks would be off doing who knew what, and he nearly dragged Hadley to his office. He congratulated her on her fair play, asked her plan. She didn't have one, of course.

Oddly, he suggested that she should try to _out fly_ the dragon.

As Hadley left Moody's office, she wondered if maybe he did have her best interests at heart. At least a little. Really though, was she a good enough flier to out fly a dragon? And if that were actually a good method, Krum was sure to use it. After all, he was _Viktor Krum_. If anyone had that strength to play to, it was him.

So what did Hadley have that the three older Champions _didn't_? Maybe she would finally take Harry up on his offer to figure that out.

* * *

Hadley sat nervously on her stool in the Champion's Tent. The little Hungarian Horntail figure was taking a nap on the pile of her school robe. She had been given a special robe for the Competition, as had the other champions, upon her arrival. It had a mild flame redundancy charm on it; not to protect her, but so that even if she ended up a charred mess at the end of this, at least the robe would look nice. So thoughtful of the judges.

Mr Bagman had pulled her aside earlier, tried to help her, but Hadley felt dirty around the man. He wasn't helping out of the goodness of his heart, same as Professor Moody. Harry, at least, didn't seem to be after anything. He might be, but there was something off about him. He didn't want anything from her, more like… for her?

Oh, but why was she thinking of this when she was just waiting to hear her name called out?

Her hand was clenched tight in her hand, the other tracing the contours of her dragon's neck. It moved into the touch even in sleep, sort of like a cat. In a way, it was cute, but then she remembered Norbert in first year, and the dragons in the pen she had seen only days before, and she killed any thought that she might ask Charlie about visiting the reserve. It was fascinating, she was sure, but too dangerous to seek out actively.

"Our fourth and final Champion, Hadley Potter, representing Hogwarts!" The voice called out and Hadley jumped. She scooped up her dragon and stuffed it into her pocket before dashing out. She slowed to a walk just as she knew she would be visible to the spectators.

Harry had said, and Sirius agreed, that this was a spectator sport and, unlike Quidditch, her score wasn't going to be based on how well she performed exactly. She wouldn't get full points for catching the snitch like in Quidditch, because she was the entire team and there were points awarded for style and skill, not just success. She had to impress the judges more than she had to get past the dragon.

And while flying would have impressed some of them, it wasn't going to win her many favors. The summoning charm was standard fourth year fare, even if it was the start of the year. And flying wasn't necessarily a skill of Champions – even if three of the four Champions were talented seekers. And for all Hadley knew Fleur was also a Quidditch player at Beauxbatons, though she doubted it.

No, Hadley thought as a few people cheered for her entrance. Flying wasn't going to get her many allies at all. She had to prove to them that she was magically strong and talented and _deserved_ to be here if she wanted them to stop making fun of her in the halls.

"Begin!" was all Hadley had to hear before she started running. She remembered Charlie saying the Horntail could spout flames up to forty feet so she stopped fifty feet away, just as it was starting to notice her tiny self approaching. She could hear, in the back of her head, Bagman's commentating on how none of the other champions had started by rushing at their dragon and speculation as to whether she had any idea what she was doing.

She would show him.

"Expecto Patronum!" Hadley's cry was fierce as she poured both a happy memory, celebrating the Irish win at the Quidditch Cup with the Weasleys and how happy she was to just be _normal_ for a day, and her determination and confidence that the spell would not go awry.

At the same time the Horntail seemed to recognize her as a threat and released a stream of blazing blue fire at her. She didn't know any shield charms yet, Lockhart's "attempt" in second year had been terrible after all, and her wand was rather occupied with the molten silver streaming out of it.

Idly, she wondered if her patronus would survive an encounter with fire. She shouldn't have worried though, as when she lowered her wand and the fire abated, she could see Prongs swinging around in a wide arc, the rack on his head still dancing with small flames. From there all Hadley had to do was run a bit further away, far enough that the dragon wouldn't consider her a threat.

Watching carefully, Hadley saw as the dragon shifted its attention to the great stag that pranced about, dodging its attempts to catch the creature for a light lunch. The dragon seemed to lose all knowledge of Hadley's presence, though it still crouched low over the eggs. Still, it was good enough.

Hadley slowly worked her way around the dragon to where she couldn't be seen. Her patronus had its instructions, to keep the dragon's attention off of her, and as it pranced over tail strikes and through fire it succeeded in doing just that. It was a good thing dragons didn't understand English, she decided, considering Bagman was spouting out her entire plan to the stadium, praising her highly advanced spellwork as he went. After all, most wizards who had achieved Os in Defense in school couldn't produce a corporeal patronus, and they had confirmed hers was when it viciously butted the dragon's striking claws.

Hadley supposed that, if she was going to pride herself on any skill other than her flying, she was pretty good at learning spells that she "shouldn't".

Finally, she was close enough to feel the heat radiating off the dragon. This was the part that could go wrong – or it could if she hadn't heard Malfoy's incantation in the duel second year.

A low "Serpensortia" was all it took to summon a sizeable snake. She hissed her instructions to it quickly and waited, ready to dodge if the dragon moved too much while trying to catch her patronus. Skeeter had already told the world what she was in her article after all, and conjuring a snake would be more impressive to the audience, whether they thought it followed mental orders like her patronus or because she spoke its tongue didn't matter.

The dragon was, thankfully, mostly stationary as her python made its way to the next, unhinging its jaw to take the golden egg, and carried it back to her safely. She dismissed the conjuration, picking up the egg, and then _ran_ as if her life depended on it. It probably did.

The moment she was out of range of fire and fang, Hadley's legs halfway gave out. Her patronus ran to her side, allowing her to catch herself on it rather than scuff her knees at the last moment, and she gave the stag a thankful pat as she got her legs back under her. It stayed only a moment longer, enough to toss its head proudly for a job well done, or so Hadley imagined, and then it dissipated into motes of silver light and soon nothing at all.

The stadium _roared_ with applause as Hadley left it through the short tunnel she had entered from. Professor McGonagall was standing proudly there and hurried her towards the medical tent for a pepper-up potion. Hadley didn't realize she needed one until she drank it and felt fire and strength coursing through her again. Holding her patronus for a full five minutes had been more draining than she had thought.

"Oh Hadley, you did great!" Hermione appeared in the tent suddenly and wrapped her in a hug. "Krum used a conjunctivis curse in his dragon's eye and lost points for damaging some eggs, and Fleur tried to set it to sleep but it caught her skirt on fire when it snored, and Cedric-" she paused and looked past the curtain to where Hadley could hear Diggory and Madame Pomfrey talking. "Well, he transfigured a rock into a dog as a distraction, sort of like your patronus, but the dragon got bored with it and his hair caught fire on the way back with the egg when it realized how close he was. They all got points off, but I can't see where you would have lost any. I… I know you don't want to be in this Tournament but-"

"It's okay Hermione," Hadley's smile was shaky, but made more enthusiastic by the pepper-up. She was bone tired, but she could sleep later. Her grip on the egg shifted to cradling it against her stomach with one arm. "I talked to Harry a few days ago, and he said that, if I'm forced to compete, I might as well win. I don't know who put my name in the goblet, but I won't give him the satisfaction of dying before I do."

Hermione let out a shaky smile and started tugging on her free arm. "The judges will put up your score in a minute. They all sort of deliberate together for a few minutes of course, to make sure that a judge from another judge doesn't take off points for absolutely no reason, but at this point they're probably just waiting for you to get out there and see the score for yourself. Krum is in the lead, because he didn't take any injuries and Karkaroff gave him a ten anyway but-" Hermione stopped speaking, and walking, almost making Hadley trip over her.

It was soon obvious as to why.

"Someone must really have it out for you, mate," Ron's presence came as a shock to Hadley, but she liked to think she held a good poker face. She thought he had gotten a bit taller in the past month, or maybe she was imagining things from not being within ten feet of him in that whole time. His eyes weren't on hers, instead off to the side, and one hand was rubbing the back of his neck.

Two seconds later, that same hand was holding his cheek, he was another half step away, and those few who had abandoned the stands before the final score was posted and were close enough to have noticed had turned at the sound of flesh striking flesh. Hadley's hand was still raised a few inches above her head and to the right, and her palm stung, but it was worth it.

"Ron, I don't know what you think, but that wasn't an apology for how you treated me since Hallowe'en," Hadley's voice was calmer than she thought it would be. She was angry, angrier than she had been _all month_, but finally she could take it out on something. Because for once, the anger wasn't her fault. It wasn't her fault she was entered, so it wasn't her fault Ron had been a prat all month. She didn't have to feel guilty for being mad at him, for being mad that a barely pubescent boy would be insensitive and not listen to his supposed best friend's side of the story before passing judgment.

Her fury was righteous, and it was cold.

"You've been ignoring me for weeks, except to sneer at me," Hadley's tone was steady, and her hand was no longer open, but clenched in a fist at her side. Ron was _staring_ at her, as if seeing her for the first time. "I'm not going to pretend that didn't happen. Your brothers and Ginny barely know me and they still asked me before they just… _assumed_ that I was in the wrong. I want to be friends Ron. I want things to be how they were a month ago, playing chess and talking about Quidditch, but they won't be unless you get it through your _thick skull_ that you need to _apologize_ like a _man_ instead of pouting like a _child!_"

Hadley turned on her heel and strode out enough to see her scores go up. A ten from Dumbledore and Bagman, nines each from Crouch and Maxime, and a seven from Karkaroff. She was in the lead.

Hiking up the egg onto her hip for a better grip, Hadley strode off with purpose to the castle, not even pausing to breathe as she pushed through a small crowd and passed Rita Skeeter. Ron _would_ apologize, even if he had to beg Hermione to tell him how. All she wanted was for him to say he was sorry. She didn't need grand gestures, she just need him to acknowledge he was wrong and that he wouldn't be such a jealous idiot in the future.

It was with a sigh that Hadley flopped onto her bed, the duvet the same shade of red as the one at Harry's apartment, ignoring the sounds of party preparations below. For now she could be just Hadley. She could lie there, and think, and pretend that Ron had gotten the message and everything would be okay by dinner.

**Author's Note: Hope you guys approve of my change to Hadley's method. I think that Harry would be encouraging her to not rely on Crouch's advice, and although Sirius has not met Harry yet he's leaving off judgment on him for the moment, 'cause, hey, bigger fish to fry here. Harry's trying to help foster her mistrust of "Moody", and pointing out that if she's going to play she may as well play to win seemed a good way to go about it.**

**I playtested DnD 5****th**** edition after I started writing this chapter… do any of you play? Because the pre-gen wizard I was handed… I was just staring at it thinking that the wizard they wrote was a nerd boy living in his mom's basement telling stories about these things he read that are really useless and occasionally using magic that fails.**

**My mum's visiting next week (6-10 to 6-20, so really weeks ago), not sure if I'll get much of chapters 7 and 8 done in that time. But hey, at least we're only a few chapters away from the end of fourth year.**

**Extra Note: A couple weeks before posting this chapter, a couple other authors used a similar technique (involving the patronus) for their Harrys to get through the task. I wrote this chapter 3 weeks in advance, before those chapters were published. I'm not copying. But I also wasn't going to go back and change what I'd written before they did just because I maintain a comfortable buffer.**


	7. In The Right Direction

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Joanne Kathleen Rowling and associates, of whom I am not one. This is a rewrite of a fic from 4 years ago.

Warnings: AU, mentions of child abuse, ongoing theme of drug abuse, some character bashing (but only such that it follows canon and canon trends), spoilers through Deathly Hallows, coarse language, some minor OCs.

Chapter 7: In The Right Direction

Ron, as it turned out, could indeed take a hint. Before the start of December he gave Hadley a proper apology, actually using the words "I'm sorry" and even saying what behavior he was sorry for. Hadley wasn't sure she had ever heard him apologize before, come to think of it. He tended to be the sort that defended his behavior to the bitter end, and if he was wrong he just never mentioned it again rather than making reparations. It was good to know their friendship was important enough to him that he actually bit the bullet rather than assuming that Hadley was going to let it go.

Was she still hurt by his behavior since Hallowe'en? Of course. But that didn't mean she couldn't get over it. She had what vengeance she needed in that slap and public declaration that she wanted an actual apology, and he had followed through. Rita Skeeter had somehow gotten a hold of the entire thing, printing it up in Witch Weekly, but Hadley supposed her editors were taking Hadley's side just this once. That week's Witch came out the day after the Prophet that held the initial details of the First Task (though it would be rehashed and spun in new directions for at least another week after) that had been covered by a Quidditch analyst at the Prophet.

So really, Witch Weekly was probably only on her side that time because Hadley was in lead position in the tournament for the moment. It wouldn't do for them to poke fun at Hadley at the same time that the public was starting to see worth in her. They managed to get Rita to interview a few other students at the school apparently, so they established the story of Ron being her first friend at Hogwarts and how, tragically, he had gotten mad at her for entering the tournament.

Actually, given Ron's apology was specifically for "being a jealous prat", the spin they put on him in the paper made him look better than actuality. Witch said it was because Ron was concerned and couldn't express himself. Ron said it was because he was jealous of her getting loads of attention and even more fame. But Hadley, Ron, and Hermione agreed to keep it between themselves, as they had their foray to the kitchens to meet the house elves that same day.

During the first Transfigurations lesson of December, Hadley and Ron were fiddling with some fake wands that Fred and George had given Hadley for her "spectacular" win. They had had moderate success in class that day and started having a sword fight with the wands. Midway through, Hadleys turned into a rubber chicken, and Ron's into a tin parrot, giving Ron the distinct advantage as the sharp beak cut rubber and-

"Mr Weasley, Ms Potter, would you _please_ act your age and _pay attention_?" Professor McGonagall's voice snapped them out of their fun and Hadley quickly turned forward in her seat, face crimson. There was a soft "plop" in the aisle between her and Ron, and she glanced down to see that the retreat had finished the severing of her rubber chicken's head. The Professor flicked her wand at it, vanishing the offending material, and coughed lightly to bring attention back to the front of the room.

"As I was saying," Professor McGonagall straightened herself in front of the class, "a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament approaches called the Yule Ball. It will be open to fourth year and above, with younger years by invitation only of an older student as their date. If you have not already deduced so, this is the occasion you were told to purchase dress robes for. If you do not possess dress robes, there will be time to do so between the end of term and the ball itself, or else you may not attend.

"The ball is a chance to 'let your hair down', so to speak," McGonagall looked a little miffed as she said this, and a few chuckles in the room were heard. Parvati and Lavender had giggled lightly throughout, Hadley supposed thinking of what boys might ask them to the ball, but apparently others found that their strict Head of House with her tight bun nestled atop her head day in and out saying that was particularly funny. "It will take place on Christmas Day, from eight o' clock until midnight, within the Great Hall. You are all to _behave_ or I shall be gravely disappointed. If I hear that any Gryffindor is making a scene or breaking any school rules…"

The trailing threat shut up those who still dared chuckle.

"Although you are all expected to enjoy yourself and mingle with our guests, you are to be on your best behavior; I will be reminding you all again when the time comes," the stern gaze of their professor had everyone sitting ramrod straight for about two seconds before the clock on the wall loosed its bell to let the class know they were out for the day. "Potter, a word if you please?"

Hadley waved Ron and Hermione to wait for her outside. If the Professor had called Ron too she might have thought it had to do with the fake wands they had been playing with, but as it was she assumed it was of relevance to the tournament.

Hopefully it wasn't to tell her there was another interview session for the champions. Hadley had finally managed a conversation with Cedric the other day, and they agreed that if the Prophet demanded more interviews, then the Hogwarts champions would be united in telling them to shove it up their collective arses if they thought that the champions deserved to deal with Rita Skeeter. Honestly, _no one _deserved to deal with her.

McGonagall leveled Hadley with a stare at the slow approach. "Ms Potter, I need to make sure you are aware that you and your partner-"

"Your dance partner, your 'date' for the Yule Ball," McGonagall didn't miss a beat. "And you will have one. As a champion, you are required to have a partner for the ball, even if you have to resort to dating the younger Mr Creevey to have one." Hadley's face scrunched up before she could help it. That was a scary thought, and an effective threat. She would have to get a good date before all the nice, attractive, or otherwise reasonable boys were snapped up. "The champions are required to dance the first dance of the night, opening the ball. Although you are not required to dance more than that, it is encouraged."

Even though Hadley had seen her own dress robes for the year, Mrs Weasley having given her a catalog of styles and helped her pick the one that best suited her to have Madame Malkin make, she still couldn't help but imagine the summer before her second year. Some faceless boy wearing a suit like Uncle Vernon's (or worse, dress robes like the ones Ron had been using as Pig's cage cover) and her in a frilly pink cocktail dress like aunt Petunia's.

Lavender would be the first person to tell Hadley that pink was _not_ her color. Where her cousin seemed to have a healthy tan year round – or, at least, it had yet to fade even in December in Scotland – Hadley's skin had a more… pallid hue. Pink, Lavender had told Hadley the one and only time she'd seen the girl wearing it, made Hadley look like a ghost.

"I, er, alright," Hadley frowned a little. "Will there be a chance to, um, learn to dance between now and then? I think Neville, or maybe one of the Weasleys, told me that a lot of pureblood families teach their kids, but…"

"Muggles do not," McGonagall nodded. "Yes, I am aware Ms Potter. I will be speaking to the headmaster on the matter, to see to it that no Hogwarts student embarrasses us with a lack of decorum."

The statement may not have been pointed, but Hadley felt it. Right. No embarrassing the school. She was doomed.

* * *

Dancing lessons with her housemates were almost as embarrassing as trying to deal with boys for the next month. True, boys weren't as obnoxious about the ball as, say, Hadley's roommates, but just because they weren't standing in clusters giggling constantly didn't mean they weren't overdoing it. Many boys could be seen in clusters, some talking to boys who they rarely spoke to, all whinging about how terrible it was to try and ask girls out.

Ron asked Hadley and Hermione why all the girls couldn't just walk away quietly when a boy asked to talk to one instead of barely backing off five feet and giggling the entire time. Seamus asked them why, when he and Dean were trying to pick up girls, some girls glared at any boy who dared approach their friend.

Hadley had no idea really, being not too close friends with any girl other than Hermione. Her other roommates were okay, and Ginny was alright when she was worshipping the ground Hadley walked on, but she hadn't had the chance to get to know girls her age growing up and couldn't really understand any other than Hermione, who was in a similar boat.

But it wasn't the clusters of girls and boys that made everything embarrassing. It was the boys who came up to Hadley to ask her to the ball.

The first was one of the boys in Harry's year, who Hadley had played Quidditch against, a Slytherin by the name of Derrick (Hadley had no idea of his first name, but knew he was a beater). He was burly, and his stature was intimidating. Hadley was sure that, if she had to dance with him, her face would be barely at level with his bottom ribs, lets alone his shoulder as was "proper".

The second, much to her horror, was Colin Creevey. He'd stared at her with big brown eye – well actually they were rather squinty, but he'd put extra effort to open them all the way making him look mad rather than "alluring" – and asked her in front of the entire Great Hall.

It was awful, and Hadley said no. Later, when Ron tried to tease her about it, she said that any boy cruel enough to ask in front of the entire Great Hall deserved to be refused. Lavendar agreed, saying that romantic gestures of that scale were only romantic in an established relationship. Parvati even backed them both up, saying that asking a girl out for the first time in front of a lot of people was a sort of scare tactic so that if they say no they feel like everyone thinks they're terrible.

Hadley didn't quite see it that way. Her view was that it was very embarrassing, and that if a boy asked her out she wanted it to be fairly private so people wouldn't bloody _gossip_ about it for the next month.

Most of the boys who asked Hadley out were a year or so older and she had never spoken a single word to them. She didn't want to go with a boy who wanted to ask the Girl-Who-Lived or the Fourth Champion rather than regular old ordinary Hadley Potter.

Not that she was really holding out for a guy who liked her to go with. Hermione had a "secret" date, someone who had asked her the first weekend after it was announced to the Hogwarts student body, and she wasn't telling anyone. Although she gave Lavender hints in exchange for names of products to smooth her hair and the promise to help with make-up on the day of. Lavender hadn't figured it out, or if she had she wasn't sharing.

Hadley cemented Lavender's cosmetic aid by helping her get a date with Seamus after Hannah Abbott turned him down. Seamus admitted he had a preference for redheads, which was why he had asked out Hannah, but he didn't seem the least bit displeased with the idea of Lavender either.

A few days before term was letting out, Hadley was one of very few people in the school who still felt the pressure of finding a date. Even Neville had a date in the form of Ginny. Hadley later found out Ron had asked Neville to take Ginny, because she wouldn't shut up about how much she wanted to go, and if there was anyone who Ron could trust his sister with it was his shy, nervous, and clumsy roommate.

The worst part for Hadley was that she didn't _want_ to ask anyone, and no one she could tolerate was asking her. Not that she was blind or anything. Hogwarts had plenty of cute boys walking its halls, but most of them she had never talked to. And even though there were cute boys, that didn't mean she _liked_ any of them. Some were rude, or braggarts, or she had never exchanged so much as a glance with. She would much rather go with a friend who wouldn't misinterpret what their "date" meant or any such thing.

When Hermione slammed her book shut in the middle of the common room, fed up with Ron's complaints of all the good girls being taken and Hadley's silent brooding over her requirement for a date she didn't really want, Hadley was more surprised than she should have been.

"You two… ugh!" Hermione growled at them, her hair puffed up a bit more than usual. "Honestly! Ronald, if you want a date_ ask someone_ and stop asking me who mine is! Hadley, _stop moping_! You two might as well be _made _for each other!"

She picked up the book and left them to their table. Hadley's quill slowly dripped ink onto her potions essay as she stared after her friend.

"Made for each other?" Hadley blinked, then shifted her gaze to Ron. "Right. Well… Ron, I'm required to have a partner for dancing. Go with me?" Her eyes widened a bit with her plea. Ron was the only person she would ask, end of story. If he said no she would just accept whatever boy came up to ask her next, because there was only a week left.

Worst come to worst, she supposed she could bring Harry, but she would really rather not do that. He was creepy enough sometimes with his flat face and voice, she didn't need to know how creepy whatever wizarding press showed found her older cousin with no emotion. Besides, she doubted he would want to be dragged into the spotlight anyway. Or she liked to imagine so, that she had family just as content as her with the idea of being a wallflower.

"Er, sure?" Ron just sort of _stared_ at her, and Hadley turned back to her essay. Across the room, she could hear Fred and George wolf whistle, and a few other students chuckle. Rather than give them any real reaction, she sent a two fingered salute and resumed her work.

Boys were really too ridiculous.

* * *

She took it back. Boys weren't ridiculous. They were thick, or maybe the ones at her age were, and Hadley decided crossly that they needed to all be locked up in cages for this part of development because they obviously couldn't function quite right.

But perhaps she wasn't being fair. Lavender said that Seamus was a perfect gentleman, and Parvati went with a cute Hufflepuff boy who was in the year below (though barely; like Hermione, he was older than most of his year mates due to an early birthday) who was apparently very nice and funny.

Hadley, however, discovered that Ron was not who she should have taken as her date.

When he refrained from attending the optional dance lessons, Hadley had figured it was because he had some idea of how to dance. The twins did well enough in the lessons that they seemed to have previous experience, so it stood to reason Ron did too, and Ginny exhibited the same natural grace as Katie Bell the one day she showed up for the optional lessons.

At the dance he showed just precisely how terrible he was, stepping on her feet more times in the opening dance than Neville did Ginny through the entire night – and Hadley knew this to be a fact because the following day the girls compared notes. Hadley had to use her limited experience from the lessons to lead while maintaining the illusion that Ron was doing so.

When Ron neglected to ask Hermione for help with his robes, Hadley thought maybe he had the twins' help instead. He was the first person to admit they were bloody awful. But he was sitting in the common room at half seven wearing the frilly, frumpy things, and it was only because of Angelina Johnson taking pity on Hadley – because there was bound to be at least one member of the press, and there was no way they wouldn't sell a picture of Hadley dancing with a fashion nightmare to the tabloids – that they were transfigured into a respectable and simple brown set without any frills, lace, or other bits and bobs. She said Fred and George's had been similarly awful, but she had helped them _weeks_ ago. Not all Weasleys were senseless, she said.

(Angelina would say the brown was because it brought out the dark blue of Hadley's dress robes, but Fred would later tell her it was really because Angelina's color changing spells were subpar in class. Either way, it was still better than the burnt orange that had previously been the dominant color on the blasted thing.)

Everything was terrible, and Hadley knew it was Ron's fault.

Her robes were faultless of course. Mrs Weasley hadn't had to worry about money when buying Hadley's after all. They were a dark blue that could only be seen as blue when next to something closer to black than they, such as Hadley's hair, or indeed when beside Ron's robes. They didn't color coordinate as many of the couples there did, but Angelina had already worked one miracle for Hadley's sake.

Lavender had even managed to tame Hadley's hair, using some of the Sleekeazy's hair potion that Hermione had absolutely had to drench her hair in to get it to stop frizzing. While the boys may complain at how long the girls took to get ready, it wasn't because each individual process took so long. It was because they were fourteen and none of them knew how to do everything. Lavender was the only reason that the fourth year girls (and Ginny) managed to get down to the ball in time at all, though Hermione handled most things that required charms, like hair pinning spells, and Parvati was the one making everyone's robes immaculate.

Even Ginny managed to contribute with some basic spells her mother had taught her that helped make make-up stay indefinitely and make the tighter dress robes at least feel less clingy. Hadley, however, was just an extra set of hands when needed. She didn't dislike these girly things, she just… didn't know how to do any of it. She hadn't ever really had the chance.

And yet all the effort that, as Lavender said, made Hadley look quite good as she entered the ball, was ruined because of Ron's eating habits. The food he ordered wasn't particularly messy, but talking to Percy over her with his mouth full he managed to get spittle on her clothes that was colored by the steak sauce on his meat, and Hermione would, later that night, pluck a small piece of beef out of Hadley's hair with an apologetic smile.

Hadley had eaten lightly, no meat so she knew that it was definitely Ron's fault, because she was nervous about dancing in front of a crowd and it turned out that her robes came with a sort of corset-like bodice that Lavender's spell had laced a little too tight. It wasn't uncomfortable, she was surprised to find, and it gave the illusion that she had breasts, which wasn't half bad, but it left her with little room for food.

But there had been a photographer from the prophet – though thankfully there was no sign of Rita Skeeter – and Hadley was sure that in one of the photos there was bound to be evidence of Ron's mess on her person.

Still, all of those things combined weren't as bad as what Hadley heard after the first dance. That was what had her so cross with Ron this time.

They took a break after the first dance. Hadley didn't like dancing, and Ron didn't like dancing, so they weren't going to dance together anymore that night, though Hadley supposed that she might have a couple dances with other male friends (or Hermione, since apparently now that the first dance had ended things were a lot more "social dancing" and less "couple dancing") as the night progressed.

She offered to grab punch, so she could work out the kinks in her feet from Ron's clumsy steps, while Ron sat at a table with Lavender, Seamus, and Dean (who had come stag). Lavender said she didn't like this song, which was why she was waiting with Seamus until one played that she _did_ like.

Hadley collected the punch and made her way around the dance floor to the small table where one of her best friends, one of her roommates, and two good acquaintances awaited, only to find Seamus and Dean amused, Ron grinning, and Lavender… glaring for some reason?

"Hadley and I are going to have some girl talk," Lavender said and dragged Hadley away before she could give Ron his punch. Lavender took it instead and started sipping, still looking annoyed. "Boys are such gossips, worse than me and Parvati any day." Lavender's tone was positively fuming as she said this. "Why did you come to the Ball with Ron?"

Hadley blinked. Lavender had asked before, though less angrily, and Hadley gave the same reply as then. "Because Ron's too chicken to ask out any of the pretty girls and McGonagall said it was part of the Goblet's contract that I had to have a partner for the opening dance. We're friends, doing each other a favor."

Ron had been miffed at Hermione also sitting with them at the elevated Banquet table. Hadley supposed that, if Ron hadn't been able to sit with the champions (and therefore near _the_ Viktor Krum) that he would have been much worse about it. She wondered if, just maybe, Ron wouldn't have wanted a date with Hermione to not be "as friends".

"Well that's not what he was saying to Dean and Seamus," Lavender seemed rather annoyed at it all. Whether for Hadley's sake or not, who knew? "I know some people were in the common room when you asked him, but he's saying that you confessed that you'd liked him for years and wanted to be his girlfriend. _Please_ tell me he's lying?"

Hadley stared at Lavender a moment before scowling. "Through his bloody teeth," she growled and stalked off towards the table, her roommate in tow. When Hadley approached, Dean whistled and then laughed a bit.

Hadley was far from pleased. Ron paled in his seat.

In the space of the next thirty seconds, Hadley gave him a dressing down that, while not on par with his mother's, was enough to put the fear of women in him for the next week or so. The highlight, the bit that Hadley thought was what had finally made him realize that there was a difference between harmless boasting and hurting Hadley, was when she asked what he would do if Neville, Malfoy, or _any_ boy made up lies about Ginny. Would he let it happen, or would he help Ginny bat-bogey hex him?

The answer, even to Ron, was obvious. He would toe the line properly for several months after, instead hounding Hermione about her association with Viktor Krum. Things started going back to normal.

* * *

Harry did not go to the Yule Ball. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. He had no interest in it. To be fair he didn't have interest in much of anything, but he _really_ had no interest in the Yule Ball. Instead, he spent the Christmas vacation at his London apartment, tidying up and being alone. He watched bad television, ate little, and generally managed to keep himself in such a low stress state that he was able to ease up on his potions consumption back to the previous dosage of once daily. Hopefully it would remain sufficient.

Just because he was an addict didn't mean he was ignorant to the dangers. But it could always he worse, he assured himself. When Professor Slughorn taught the calming draught to Harry's class he had gone to the effort of making sure everyone knew the risks involved in addiction. Harry, of course, was already dependent by that point, and Slughorn knew it. It was why the professor taught that lesson at the time.

It was also why the walrus-like man had given Harry his memory of Tom Riddle. He had blamed himself for Harry's addiction, his lack of action and lack of notice when term began. Harry had almost felt triumphant when he brought Dumbledore the memory not a week after receiving it.

Harry's thoughts wandered the entire two week vacation, and he arrived at Hogwarts more serene than the first time he had taken the Serenity Solution. When he ran into Hadley after the first day of classes, on the opposite side of Hermione from Ron and pointedly annoying the boy, he almost felt a spark of curiosity at the sight and asked her about it. His troubles with Ron had ended as soon as he'd beaten a dragon after all, so what was it that had them at odds yet again?

"Ron was my partner for the Yule Ball," Hadley stated crossly. "Even though we both told each other we were going as friends, he told some boys in our year that I was in love with him or something. I'm just lucky the cameraman at the Ball was too busy ogling Fleur all night or I might've made the news like Hagrid did."

"Ah," Harry nodded his head slowly, thinking. His Ron and Hermione had been more or less together before Ron's death, definitely at least obsessed with one another. And everyone had always been pushing Harry to date Ginny, as if making the four of them all the same family was some poetic wonderful thing. Harry hadn't felt one way or the other about Ginny, hadn't felt romantically for anyone except for Cho since he'd started on potions after that.

Ginny had pursued him, true, and even nearly kissed him once in sixth year. He'd dodged it obliviously and she had ended up embarrassed and annoyed, not speaking to him for the rest of the next month until Dumbledore's funeral. And, well, anyone could see that Ron and Hermione behaved like an old married couple. They would have been married within a year or two for certain if Ron hadn't gotten in the way at the end.

It made sense, he supposed, that with the Girl Who Lived being, well, a girl, that Molly would push her son of closest age at her instead of the daughter. Or maybe because Ron, at this age, was seeking glory, still concentrated on doing something his brothers hadn't. Both seemed likely. Underneath it all, Ron was a bit of a mama's boy, and he was also tired of being overshadowed by his brothers.

If Harry remembered anything of what his childhood felt like, he supposed it felt like being Ron. Overshadowed by Dudley (in more ways than one) and trying to prove his worth to his aunt and uncle, as Ron tried to prove himself compared to his siblings. Yes, he supposed that was why he always understood Ron well in life.

"Don't worry, he'll get better," was what Harry decided to say. He wasn't sure what else would do.

He didn't see Hadley again until a month later. The second task was approaching on February twenty-fourth and, Harry realized, at this point in time he had had no idea what to do. He had borne a grudge against Cedric at the time, though he couldn't recall why, and hadn't taken the older boy's advice until it was almost too late.

So when Harry cornered Hadley on February ninth, he kept it quick. Ron and Hermione had kept forward, bickering and ignorant that Harry had ambushed her as they left the Transfigurations room. "Take the egg in the bath, and ask your Herbology partner what to do from there," he said when Ron and Hermione were ten feet ahead, and then he moved, gave Hadley a wave, and trotted along to his own class. Of course, that depended on Hadley having taken his advice to partner with Neville instead of Ron or Hermione. Well, if she hadn't, it wasn't _his _fault_._

It was loads more than he had had to work with. Crouch hadn't known much about teenagers, that much was certain. He didn't realize that just because two boys roomed together, that didn't mean they talked much. Harry was trying to shove Hadley in the right direction a bit more obviously, and maybe help Neville a bit too. Though he doubted anything short of the DA would really give Neville the right sort of kick in the pants.

And again, two days later, Hadley showed up, more curious than ever. Harry was in a study session with the other Slytherins at the time, in the library as they all looked up information for various essays. Higgs and Davis quit their gossiping as they were the first to see her approach. The lack of chatter was quickly noticed by the boys, who all looked up, eyeing the silent girls, before following their gazes.

Hadley stood awkwardly in an aisle nearby, looking at them, rocking on her heels as if fighting herself on whether or not to approach. Harry did his best to smile invitingly at her, even as his housemates kept themselves reserved.

She seemed to steel herself as her eyes flitted from face to Slytherin face. She took her first step forward, than another, and continued in this fashion near robotically until she was standing by the shoulder of Harry's chair, where Harry had half twisted his torso to get a good look at her.

"Harry, I spoke with Neville in Herbology, and I was wondering if…" she paused, cleared her throat that made her voice a bit hoarse, and continued. "If you knew of an apothecary that happened to sell exotic Mediterranean water plants?"

"Of course, there's one I can think of that does owl orders even," Harry told her. He had taken some time to explore Knockturn Alley over his break. Just a day, to see why the aurors hadn't shut down the street for good if it was all black market like the shops he had seen on previous visits. Of course, as it turned out there were a lot of shops dealing black market, but others dealt in rarities, pieces of interest, low quality second hand goods, or other niche items.

After all, hadn't Hagrid had to go to the Alley for Flesh Eating Slug Repellent the once? It wasn't all bad, it was just a bad part of town. The place that tourists, the students, muggleborns, anyone who was not very familiar with the area, would not wander alone.

As it was, under the Cloak of Invisibility Harry was still certain his wallet had almost been lifted _twice_. When it was nearly physically impossible for anyone to find him.

"Well if you happen to put an order in the next week or so, I have a few things I would like to put on it," Hadley said after a moment. Harry nodded easily and she scampered back to her aisle. He could see Hermione in the same, and Krum at a table not too far off.

"And that was about what exactly?" Montague raised one eyebrow. It was rather impressive how well he could do that, actually.

"You'll see on the twenty-fourth," was Harry's reply. And the Slytherins resumed their work.

**Author's Note: By the by, chapter plans (assuming I stick by them) now plans weekly updates through September, which covers through 6****th**** year. Assuming I continue getting things done at the current rate, all should be well in terms of updates. No promises, since I have no idea what summer has in store for me, but I'm going to try.**

**Oh, I'm posting this on the 4****th**** of July? Cool. Hope all the Americans had a fun day! I spent this day last year in Amsterdam having as close to a Texas style barbecue as possible there with my Texan uncle and French aunt. Pro-tip: NEVER let a French woman make you a margarita. It will not end well. No idea what I'm doing this year today (because, hey, this chapter was written in early June), but I'll assume barbecue at my grandparents or something. And I probably saw the new Spiderman night before last.**

**(Haha, out of buffer now... too much Skyrim... oops? I'm goig to scrap wat I have for the next chapter and start that over. It'll be out on time, no worries.)**


	8. Interest in the Future

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Joanne Kathleen Rowling and associates, of whom I am not one. This is a rewrite of a fic from 4 years ago.

Warnings: AU, mentions of child abuse, ongoing theme of drug abuse, some character bashing (but only such that it follows canon and canon trends), spoilers through Deathly Hallows, coarse language, some minor OCs.

Chapter 8: Interest in the Future

Harry didn't attend the second task. He'd lived it, and he knew there was nothing to watch. Hadley's order had come in the day before the task, and at breakfast he noted that Ron was gone from the Gryffindor table, as was Hermione. Everything was as before. Hadley was best friends with Ron and Hermione. They sometimes spoke to Ginny or Neville. Though he noticed Hadley talk to Parvati or Lavender a bit more often than he ever had, things were the same.

If he had his way, his appearance wouldn't change anything until the night of the third task. If that didn't happen, he didn't know what would, so he didn't want to interfere much. Giving Dumbledore warnings to treat Hadley better was one thing. She needed to know the prophecy, and finally executing the Potters' will was simply a kindness. Stopping him from enhancing her emotions was a _necessity_.

Otherwise, he was content to make things a little easier for her. Helpful hints for the first task so that she could get ahead in points – mostly because he hoped that that extra minute lead she would have over Cedric might mean Cedric didn't grab the cup at all – and some more innocent hints about the second. If she hadn't taken his hints to heart, Dobby would have fixed it all up for her. But it was best that Snape not suspect her of stealing supplies. If his eye didn't turn to Hadley, he might even notice Moody.

But no, for now Harry only wanted things to stay as they had been. He could interfere later. Dumbledore accepted his ruse as a seer. For now, that was what mattered.

After the second task, Moody's probation was lifted and Tonks returned to her regular order duties. Harry had avoided the woman as much as possible during lessons. He still saw her corpse in the Great Hall when he looked at her. He was supposed to take care of her child.

The Serenity Solution was meant to protect him from himself, but he still had been taking it less than a year. He didn't trust it to settle things completely.

On the morning of the February Hogsmeade weekend, Harry managed to slip Hadley the parting idea that their apartments were "pet friendly" up to and including large dogs. He wondered what she thought of it, if she did anything at all. Was she still meeting Sirius in Hogsmeade today? It was amazing he'd remembered that at all, though he thought Sirius was living in a cave or something. He just remembered smuggling food and the other students asking why they hadn't seen him, Ron, and Hermione at the Three Broomsticks, or anywhere else, all day.

It was that that made Harry realize that he didn't really have a plan. Aside from the Tournament, he hadn't really remembered much of his fourth year. He'd barely remembered his fight with Ron after all, and he'd been _miserable_ at the time. Fifth year was a similar blur. Aside from the vague ideas of Umbridge, Dumbledore's Army, Occlumency lessons, and storming the Ministry… He just didn't know.

But he didn't need a plan really. Just to tweak Dumbledore's. Giving Hadley hints and intervening was okay, and later participating would work. Harry's big plan after he arrived was making himself seem legitimate. After that, well, he was just Harry. Leave the big plans to bigger wizards.

Months passed. Harry drifted day to day. He didn't really have any advice for Hadley, nothing to make things easier that wouldn't reveal too much, that might stop her from letting Voldemort come back this time. He was sure, after she was shown the pitch's desecrated state and Fleur, rather than Krum, was attacked at the edge of the Forest, that she was training just as he had. Learning and mastering the spells that Harry had learned, that hadn't done him almost any good until the following school year when he was teaching his fellow students how to survive.

The tournament had gone well enough without too much outside interference, and Harry had NEWTs to prepare for. There was no time to help Hadley, even if he did, just once, slip her a list of spells she should have Hermione look into.

In fact, Harry didn't speak to Hadley for more than a few seconds after his remarks about Sirius. He only saw her across the Great Hall at meals, or if she was with Hermione in the library at the same time, though more often she left her friend to her study dates with Krum.

At least, until mid-June, when Hadley cornered him on his way from the bathroom after his Charms NEWT. The whites of her eyes were pink, as though she'd been crying, and there was a small purpling he could see at her left temple, the start of a bruise. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her hands trembled as she stared up at him.

"Help me, Harry," her voice was almost faint. "You're a seer, aren't you? So help me."

* * *

For Hadley, the time between tasks was almost frightening. The second task had been easy, once Harry told her to ask Neville for help. Every time he told her things like that, she found it… off. Well, everything about him was off. He didn't smile. He didn't frown. He just sort of existed, and he told her things.

At first, before the first task, she had thought that maybe he was just sneaky and smart, like Slytherins were supposed to be. She thought that he had followed Hagrid to the dragons and come up with better hints than Moody had, and that was all it was. But from what she heard he was fairly average in all of his classes except for Defense and Divination.

And then he had told her to ask her Herbology partner for help with the second task, and she thought that perhaps he was really acting as Dumbledore's indirect conduit to help her with the tasks. The other schools had them. The teachers had apparently all taken oaths over the summer that they couldn't help their champions (she did wonder how Moody managed to, but he'd been a last minute hire, so perhaps he had been exempted). It was an open secret that Poliakoff was the conduit between Karkaroff and Krum, and that one of the Beauxbatons boys, who happened to receive tutoring from Madame Maxime, tutored Fleur in kind.

It made sense. Harry's advice was all for things that Dumbledore surely knew, and in Dumbledore's style. She looked back with hesitant fondness to her first year. Dumbledore gave them the tools to catch Quirrell, gave her the privilege to face down her parents' murderer, and he was doing similar now.

And then, on the morning of her Hogsmeade trip after the Task, it all changed. With just a small handful of words, it changed drastically.

"Hey Hadley, I don't recall if I mentioned before, but the apartment is pet-friendly," Harry had walked her, Ron, and Hermione down the hill before going shopping. It was odd not to see him with the other Slytherins now. "So if you want a pet other than Hedwig… I know that one of the neighbors has a large dog. I sort of always wanted one, a big black dog would be nice. Small dogs are okay, and cats are fine, but big dogs are better. More like family, I think. Maybe a grown one, a rescue? Wouldn't want to have to paper train it, and I finally nailed the expansion charms."

It was his usual monotone. His usual lack of expression. His usual "I'm telling you something" air. And oh, Hadley understood.

Harry was telling her that he knew about Sirius, and he was offering him a home.

Quite suddenly, Hadley was frightened of Harry. Dumbledore wouldn't have told him. Not without asking Sirius and Hadley about it. There should have been no way to know. Sure, she exchanged letters with her godfather while staying with Harry, but he never saw them, and they were always to "Snuffles", never mentioned a dog… nothing.

Hermione shared Hadley's apprehension, and Ron was mostly just confused, but when _Sirius_ noticed how rattled Hadley was, she couldn't help but tell him everything.

She had mentioned Harry before, and Sirius couldn't say much but that the photo she enclosed of Harry once did resemble her grandfather a bit. But Hadley hadn't told him _about _Harry. She hadn't realized there was so much to tell until she was telling it.

"He doesn't feel I don't think," Hadley began. "Harry doesn't feel. He never smiles. He never really shows concern over anything. He's never stressed, never sad, even when he was talking about traumatic things, his teacher's murder, he sounded… wistful at most. When I met him he talked a lot. If I asked him the smallest thing he'd go into this big long story, full of details. I feel like I know more about his life than I do Ron or Hermione's sometimes. He was privately taught by a local wizard because his muggle family was poor, ran away to live with his teacher because they were abusive, things like that he reveals at the drop of a hat. Or he did. Once school started he stopped. He doesn't approach me unless it's to give me a hint, and it's always the same thing. He's quiet, says something odd with a voice as flat as anything, and even if we have a conversation it's only a few minutes long.

"First time I heard him say or do something odd was my first night at his apartment. He had an extra plate out at least five minutes before Dumbledore arrived to ask after me. We talked about the Cup for a while, and he managed to guess exactly how it would go. Then when I went to Ron's for the Cup he told me to keep a hand on my wand, and it ended up getting stolen and used to summon the Dark Mark. And I think… I think he's the reason Dumbledore told me about my parents' will." She wasn't going to mention the prophecy. She hadn't even told Ron and Hermione yet. Too scared, too worried about what they might say.

"For the tournament I thought the hints he gave me weren't really from him. How would he know there was a spell I could cast that none of the other Champions could? I'm only 14! I never told him about learning the Patronus, or anything, but he knew I had a leg up on the others that could protect me. And for the second task… Harry told me months ago to partner with Neville in Herbology. I've known Neville for years and never knew he was good at _anything_, and then it's Neville who hands me the key to the second task."

Hadley stopped to breathe, to calm down. She was flustered. She was certain her face was red from talking to fast, and from the stress of the situation, and from the hike up the cliffside. She turned to pat Buckbeak, to even herself out again.

"I know now it can't all be coincidence," Hadley continued. "He told us on the walk to the village that the apartments are pet friendly, and when he was young he always wanted a big dog, a black one, one that's already grown and doesn't need training. It was so _transparent_ that he knew about you, knew _everything_ about you. He knows you're here, knows you're an animagus, knows we were coming to see you and you're innocent and my godfather and that I want to live with you more than anything and… Sirius, what if he's been blackmailing me this whole time, or planning too, and I was just too thick to notice until now? Even Dumbledore confirmed he must be family, and you're supposed to be able to trust family, right?"

Ron shifted awkwardly in the corner. Hadley didn't usually get quite this riled up, but she was _scared_ and confused and about ten other things she shouldn't even identify. She didn't want to believe anything negative about Harry. Sure his lack of emotion was kind of creepy. And his hints were stupid and weird and _right_. Hermione also seemed hesitant to do anything, instead joining Hadley in patting Buckbeak, while Sirius thought.

Hadley was all too glad that her godfather had managed to come out of Azkaban with scars and wisdom instead of insanity like many released prisoners.

Though his wisdom, in this moment, seemed rather lacking. "When he gives advice, what does he do? You said he set an extra plate at the table before unexpected company arrived. Do you remember anything else?"

"Not really," Hadley shrugged. "We were sitting down to dinner and he set plates down on the table. I don't think I noticed the extra until Harry was serving the Headmaster dinner. And when he gives advice… it's weird and vague. He says… it's always weird things. To watch my wand, or be ready for trouble, sometimes. Others… other times he's more weirdly specific. He said that the Tournament is a spectator sport, and I should show what I can do that no one else can… that was for the first task, when I used my Patronus.

"He… that time he added that he'd heard that Dad had a flair for the dramatic. He didn't have anything specific like that for the second task, just told me to ask Neville. But he knew an apothecary that did owl order and carried gillyweed, too, so…"

"Does he ever get weird looks on his face? Space out and say something strange?" Hadley nodded in response to Sirius' question. A lot of the time when she saw Harry he was looking off at nothing, if he wasn't with his Slytherin study group. "He might be a seer."

"A seer? Are you off your rocker?" Ron burst out laughing. "Even Trelawney doesn't do things like that. The 'inner eye' isn't real anyway."

"Professor Trelawney teaches Divination," Hermione explained when Sirius gave Ron an odd look. "She's also a fraud if there ever was one. Hadley told us last year she gave a real prophecy, the day Wormtail escaped, but all she ever does is talk about how Hadley will die some gruesome death or another. It drove me mad enough that I dropped her class."

Sirius smiled then. "Seers are real. Sort of. I mean… your professor can't be one, if she gave a prophecy," he started explaining. "There are three sorts of connections to fate. Seers see possible futures, speakers are just people chosen by magic to act as a voice from time to time, which is what your teacher might be, and then there are real prophets who don't see it or anything but _know_ the future. Most prophets go mad quickly and die young though, and seers are the most common, but it usually doesn't hit until majority so teaching it in school is rather pointless."

"You said they're only 'sort of' real?" Hermione's interest was apparently piqued.

Hadley's mind, meanwhile, was running through possibilities. Harry had known where she lived. He'd known Dumbledore was coming to dinner. The tasks, Sirius, he knew it all. And… hadn't he said, when he first met her, that after his majority he just had the feeling to go to Gringotts? Was that the awakening of his abilities?

It almost made sense.

"Well no one really knows what it is that makes a seer," Sirius shrugged. "Since it usually happens after majority, people think that people aren't seers so much as magic just kind of messed up when finishing them off. Others say they aren't really seeing futures so much as they have overactive, if insightful, imaginations."

"So you think Harry is a seer?" Hadley frowned at her godfather. But it made sense. How else would he know about Sirius?

"He could be," Sirius shrugged. "You might need to observe him a bit more to figure it out. But for now… I _know_ I smelled sausages in your bag!"

Harry wasn't forgotten as the animagus feasted, but the subject was dropped in favor of more obviously dangerous things. Harry seemed benign. He hadn't hurt her. Whoever entered her into the tournament _had_, and she needed to protect herself.

* * *

SPEW mostly fizzled out in the coming months, though Rita Skeeter seemed to be upping the ante as Witch Weekly reported terrible and untrue things about both Hadley and Hermione. It was Fred and George who steered Hermione clear of any cursed letters, teaching her to detect anything foul in her mail before she could open it, and Katie Bell managed to wrangle a lot of the other older girls in the school to help with writing letters to the editors of both Witch Weekly and the Prophet to get them to censor their star writer.

It didn't stop Skeeter at all, but both the magazine and the paper published the letters in their editorial sections, which was better than nothing. When Hermione and Hadley received smaller than normal Easter baskets from Mrs Weasley – for Hermione because it was said she was stringing Krum along for help on the Tournament for Hadley, and for Hadley because papers claimed she was throwing Ron around like a yo-yo, things Mrs Weasley shouldn't have believed but could not abide by the mere idea of being true – they knew it really hadn't done any good.

But Hadley and Hermione endured. Hermione didn't talk about the tournament at all with Krum, so he knew there was no basis to any rumors he might hear, and Ron, in a moment of insight, made it clear that he and Hadley had never been dating, she hadn't been stringing him along, and any fights during the first term had been his fault anyway.

It made things easier in school, at least. Even if Rita Skeeter had decided to use two teenaged girls as her punching bags, at least their school mates believed better of them.

On May 24th, the champions were summoned to the Quidditch Pitch to receive their information about the third task. A labyrinth, made of what would soon be tall shrubbery, filled with creatures and enchantments capable of taking down any capable wizard. They would have to prove themselves in this labyrinth, fight their way to where Ludo Bagman was even then giving them their debriefing, and claim the triwizard cup. Because Hadley was in the lead, if only by two points, she would be given a one minute head start. Then Cedric, then Krum, and finally Fleur would be allowed in, each at one minute intervals. They were told to work hard, and practice, and no more.

After the meeting, Fleur lightly touched Hadley's shoulder before Bagman could ask for a private audience this time, causing the younger girl to stop quickly.

Fleur really was someone to be envious of. True, she was part-veela, but Hadley knew that even if she weren't Fleur would still be ridiculously pretty. As Ron had waxed poetic after getting a faceful of her vela charm, her hair was spun of noon's sun, her skin a fine porcelain, her figure finer than any Playwizard model. While Hadley wouldn't comment on the latter – though she did know Fleur's hips were wide enough to be attractive but still slim and her chest was moderately proportioned so that she was called beautiful by boys rather than having them talk about how sexy she was – the half-drugged rambling hadn't been too far off.

Fleur was a singular specimen, veela blood or no, and Hadley was terribly jealous she couldn't ever aspire to such an appearance.

"'Adley, eez zere somewhere we could talk?" Fleur's voice was light, not high or low or airy, merely "light". "I zink I 'ave some advice zat could 'elp you with your media problem."

Hadley glanced back at Bagman who still looked like he wanted to talk. It was starting to get creepy, how he was trying to help her. Not like Harry, who seemed more like a seer every day, but like Professor Moody. After Tonks left, Moody started picking on Hadley in class constantly, as Professor Lockhart had once done, using her as the text subject for spells, but also as a test caster so she started gaining experience in casting too.

It didn't take Hadley half a second to agree to go speak with Fleur.

"Unless you want to go inside, the best idea might be near the edge of the forest," Hadley decided. "No one will be by there, the forest itself is dangerous, but if we keep our wands ready and within shouting distance of Hagrid's hut we should be fine. And it's only seven, so the sun will be up for at least another hour."

"Oui, zat eez fine," Fleur agreed. "Ze castle eez… loud."

They walked quietly to the forest, stopping near its edge and perhaps thirty meters away from Hagrid's cabin. Hadley could hear a bark or two from Fang, so they had to be at a safe distance for shouting. She stopped her pace and turned to Fleur, waiting.

"Zis Skeeter woman, she eez ze worst sort of person," Fleur sighed. "She would be 'ard to fight. She eez weak, but popular, zo eef you fight 'er, you must use channels ozer zen ze ones she does. Zere are… very few newspapers 'ere. Few zat do not carry 'er, and none of zem carry any clout."

"Yeah, the only one with any readers is the Quibbler and… well, you'd have to be barmy to believe anything they print," Hadley winced at the thought. At Harry's suggestion she had approached the big eyed blond girl in Ravenclaw, apparently a friend of Ginny's, and their short conversation had been so full of imaginary creatures that Hadley didn't know where to begin. Luna had actually dismissed Hadley herself, saying that Hadley had a terrible nargle infestation that would take all summer to get rid of. Whatever that meant.

"Oui," was all Fleur said. Hadley waited. Hadn't Fleur mentioned _advice_ was the purpose of their chat? "I 'ave… observed some students who 'ave been quoted about you doing odd things. Ze pale boy and 'is friends 'eld zere 'ands to zere mouths, and whispered. Ze young boy in ze 'ouse of Badgers did ze same, and later released a bug onto ze grounds. I believe zat Skeeter is using zese bugs to do 'er information collecting. Or else zat she-"

Before Hadley could hear the rest of Fleur's theory, though she had a feeling she knew now what it might be, a crashing came from the woods. Hadley had never really had a better judgment, so she didn't go against it when she ran to the sound.

Just past the tree line was a raggedly thin man. Bags stood out under his eyes and his skin was stretched tight across his cheeks. His eyes were wide so the white could be seen all around, and he dressed in rags. Rags with pinstripes, but rags all the same.

Barty Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, was clutching the bark of a tree so hard that the ends of his fingers bled, or perhaps they had already been bleeding. He'd lost a shoe, the sole of the one remaining worn thin, and the other foot covered in blisters, some popped. His finger nails were ragged, so torn out, his hair cut uneven, likely torn out from tangles in bushes.

"Yes Weatherby, make sure to inform them… yes, for my wife and son as well." Crouch spoke with a rapid fervor that Hadley would not have attributed him. In their previous meetings his voice had been steady and slow, and Percy had said his boss was always put together and calm.

Did he… did he think that tree was Percy?

"Isn't zat Meester Crouch? Ze judge?" Fleur's voice was quiet as she came up behind Hadley, touching her lightly before speaking to prevent any alarm. "What 'as 'appened?"

"Percy told me he was sick, sending in his work by mail, hadn't been in since early December, recovering from some nasty disease," Hadley eyed the man carefully as she said this. "It looks more like he had a mental breakdown." Or a few too many encounters with the dementors. But those were all back at Azkaban. There was no reason why Crouch would encounter them on sick leave, so why was he so…

_Mad_?

There was no better word for it. Madder than Moody, battier than Trelawney, Mr Crouch had obviously lost his mind sometime in the past few months.

Suddenly, Crouch turned on Hadley, leapt forward and grasped the front of her robes with his bleeding, and now obviously broken, hands. It snowballed from there. He would jump between speaking to Hadley, telling her he had to talk to Dumbledore, had to warn him, had to warn Hadley, and then he would be back to talking to the Tree Known as Weatherby about the Tournament, or attending important dinners with his wife and son.

Fleur offered to stay behind and watch him while Hadley fetched Dumbledore Fleur wouldn't know where his office was, and she didn't believe it was appropriate to have either of the foreign heads deal with the matter. Hadley was off running, thankful now for all the days Ron's laziness or Hermione's studiousness made them have to run halfway across the castle to get to class.

Snape was leaving the office as she approached, and wasted a full minute of her time before Dumbledore himself appeared. In an instant he was off running with Hadley, his long legs allowing him the same speed as her nearly, and in a fifteen minute round trip, under a darkening sky, they arrived at where she had left them.

Fleur was stunned on the ground, scratched from the bush she landed in. Crouch was gone. Soon others appeared. Moody to search, the other heads had pursued after seeing Dumbledore run. Madame Maxime was horrified as to what happened, but could take no action once her champion declared that there was to be no recompense for what had happened. The attack on her had been the act of a madman and no fault of Hogwarts or Hadley, or so she said.

Hadley was so guilt ridden though. Two days later she sent Fleur an apology and a light blue hand-knit scarf from Mrs Weasley who, after a stern letter from her sons, was all too glad to make up the temporary cold shoulder she had given to her youngest son's best friends.

Hadley couldn't dwell on it for long though. She had a task to complete, and perhaps even win. It would make Sirius so proud, after all.

* * *

Divination had never been particularly interesting, but Ron had always described it as an easy O. Percy had even said it was a good class for those looking to the future. Hadley knew now, as the last class before exams progressed, that it was a load of bollocks. Sure, knowing the future might be interesting to some. She could understand why Harry took it. She'd managed to catch rumors from the only seventh year Gryffindor in the NEWT class that Harry was top of the class in it and Trelawney's pet student.

But Hadley? Hadley had no interest in the future. She already had one prophecy looming over her head. She didn't need to know anything else. An easy O it may be, but she almost wished she was in one of Hermione's classes instead. Maybe Arithmancy. She had been decent at maths in muggle school. Now she could barely remember her times tables, or the basic algebra taught toward the end of primary, but that was just from disuse.

She could have enjoyed Arithmancy. No heady fumes from fires and candles to make her woozy. No pressing heat that made her break out in a terrible sweat and want to move as little as possible. The white noise from the buzzing of a bug by the window she sat near didn't help. All three just made her want to sleep.

She was so tired. Of the Tournament, of Trelawney, of Malfoy's constant taunting, of wondering if Harry was _really_ a seer… she was just so tired…

If she could fly, everything would feel better. She could almost feel the wind on her face, cooling the sweat away. The thrill of diving and the way that hotter air was easier to rise on, cold air easier to dive down into. She could feel the feathers beneath her fingers…

Hadley paused at that. Feathers? She didn't feel feathers when she flew, unless one counted those few times on Buckbeak. Her eyes opened and what she saw was not the circular tower room known as the Divinations classroom, but sky darkening hours too early. The feathers under her hands were too large as she rode an eagle owl through the twilight.

Ahead, a village appeared, and a house on a hill. She recognized that house. She had seen it, once, over the summer. When she dreamed of the old muggle and Wormtail and Voldemort's horrible tiny form killing that old muggle. It was the house on the hill from her dreams.

The owl descended and lit on the sill of a window, tapping urgently on the pane. Wormtail came to collect it, not seeing the tiny form of Hadley resting on the bird's back. He took the letter and left the owl where it was, taking the parchment not halfway across the room to an old wingback chair that sat before the fireplace.

It was Voldemort's high voice that spoke then. Saying a mistake had been fixed. That Wormtail's folly would not end his plans.

Then there was the cruciatus. Wormtail's pain was Hadley's and it was _terrible_.

And then she woke up.

Before her, everything was a blur. Her head _ached_ something fierce, white hot pain lancing through the center of her forehead and behind her eyes. Her brain was on fire, her nerves still felt the ghost of Wormtail's pain.

It took a minute for her to realize she was on her back on the floor, staring at the ceiling and the concerned faces of her housemates as they tried to get her to respond. It was Trelawney's sudden insistence that Hadley had had a vision, had seen some portent of the future, of her own grizzly death to come, that snapped Hadley out of her stupor.

"I didn't. It wasn't… I dozed off, and got a migraine," she defended, reaching out a hand to Ron to be helped up. "My head hurts. I think I'm allergic to some herb in these candles. Please, can I go get a head ache cure from Madame Pomfrey?"

"My dear, you musn't cloud your mind with potions! That way lies true blindness," Trelawney balked at the idea. "Stay. Stay and share what you have seen!"

"I didn't see anything!" Hadley bit out. It was harsher than she intended and she fought to rein herself in. "I really must be allergic to something. I can barely breathe and I think I might vomit. Please let me go."

Before the Professor could protest more, Hadley left the room. She left Ron behind too. She couldn't face him right now.

How could she face anyone after that? She had _seen_ something. There was no explaining it. She had thought that maybe the first dream was a fluke, all those months ago. There had been no repeat performance. It was just a nightmare that triggered pain in her scar.

But twice…

_Fool me twice, shame on me,_ Hadley's mind chimed in for her. It wasn't inaccurate. There was something more to this. What if it was sight? What if she was a seer like Harry?

Merlin, now she really _did_ want to throw up. She staggered to the nearest loo and pressed her forehead to the glass, willing the pain away. What could she do? Before the details drained away she had to tell someone. She had to do something. But what?

_I could go to the Headmaster,_ was her first thought, but she brushed it off. He would be busy. For the NEWT and OWL students it was already exam time. Other exams were starting in two days. She rifled through her bag, pulling out the Marauders' Map eyes skimming quickly through the dots. She was barely familiar with who half of them even were, could ignore them, until she found the dot she wanted, the one that could help her.

Four floors down, headed approximately for the blokes' loo on that floor. Slow pace. He must have just left his practical exam. Hadley ripped herself from the mirror she hadn't even looked in, not seeing the desperate look in her eyes as she sped through the hall, dodging what few students were not already buried in tomes for study. She took shortcuts she knew well, and one the map suggested that she hadn't ever noticed before. By the time she reached the right floor, Harry's dot was leaving the loo, apparently headed for the Library.

She stopped him.

He stood composed. As always the only expression on his face was a momentary befuddlement before clarity set in and he seemed once again all-knowing and impenetrable. It was infuriating most of the time.

Right now it was the most comforting sight in the world. She may not find him likeable or trustworthy, but Harry _always_ knew what was happening.

"Help me, Harry," Hadley wished she wasn't so winded from her sprint down. "You're a seer, aren't you? So help me."

It was hardly half a breath before Harry shook his head. "Not here. Meet me after dinner on the seventh floor in front of the portrait of Barnabus the Barmy. For now, go talk to Dumbledore. He needs to know what happened before I can help you." He turned on his heel and continued on to the library leaving Hadley lost and confused and determined.

**Author's Note: I'm going to repeat my request - does ANYONE know any good fem!Harry fanfiction aside from Girl in the War? Because it is honestly the only interesting, well-written, non-creepy paired one I can find. I don't care if it's a crossover (assuming I know the other fandom). But I have gone through several archives and found diddly squat. If the plot is interesting, the writing and relationships are terrible. If the relationships are good, the rest is bland. If it's well written, it is always something weird like Harry/fem!Harry or a very much older adult male and a too young to be legal fem!Harry and I'm sorry but incest and pedophilia do not make me a happy reader. Suggestions please?**

**I lost my entire three week buffer. Blame boyfriend, D&D, family visiting, Skyrim, runescape, this thrice damned heat… if it exists, you can probably blame it. But mostly family, Skyrim, and boyfriend. Especially my boyfriend. He saved over my almost 100% complete file of FF9 (so I had to do it over) and then borrowed my laptop for a week… and let me borrow his Xbox so I could be Dovahkiin.**

**So much Dovahkiin. So little fanfiction.**

**Sorry if Fleur's accent is weird. I don't know what sort of French accent she's written with, so I'm just writing my aunt's accent. (You spend a month living with your family in Europe and see if you don't have a fair image of a specific accent in your head!) Also, I kind of really wanted her to just levitate Crouch to the castle, but decided against it because it wasn't in the plan it would fuck up the next chapter or two too much.**

**Also - broke 100,000 profile views. I feel popular. (Who am I kidding I haven't been popular in 2 years.)**


	9. Help From the Shadows

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Joanne Kathleen Rowling and associates, of whom I am not one. This is a rewrite of a fic from 4 years ago.

Warnings: AU, mentions of child abuse, ongoing theme of drug abuse, some character bashing (but only such that it follows canon and canon trends), spoilers through Deathly Hallows, coarse language, some minor OCs.

Chapter 9: Help From the Shadows

Neville's parents had been tortured into madness, Crouch apparently had a son who participated, Snape really was an ex-Death Eater and spy… Hadley's mind was swirling with the new information she had accidentally come to learn in the pensieve. While it was interesting to know that Crouch was the father of a Death Eater – it certainly explained his change in Departments – what concerned her was Neville.

She'd never paid much attention to him. Like how she would be if not for her fame, he was a bit of a wallflower. He would sometimes join her, Ron, and Hermione for studying, more often now that she was his Herbology partner, but he didn't really hang around the other Gryffindors. He was timid, he always screwed up in class, but he worked hard. She'd heard he was friends with Ernie MacMillan but never seen evidence to support it. His work ethic would certainly get him to fit in better with the Hufflepuffs than the Gryffindors, anyway.

But knowing about his parents… it explained a lot. Hadley knew of Neville's Gran by reputation only, but she was apparently strict and not likely very affectionate. Not like the Dursleys, thankfully, but it explained a lot.

Dumbledore revealing that Neville had been the other child who could have been the one the prophecy spoke of though… that was a harsh blow. And she was almost glad it was her. If Neville had been the one Voldemort chose, would _Hadley's_ parents be in St Mungo's right now? She didn't envy Neville's position any more than he was likely to envy her own.

As it was, with all that information flitting about in her brain, Hadley almost forgot that she was supposed to talk to Harry that evening. That maybe she had really _seen_ something.

So it was with her mind in chaos that Hadley was dashing up to the seventh floor, trying to remember precisely where Barnabas the Barmy's portrait was. There weren't any classrooms on that hall. It was only because it was between the Gryffindor common room and the library that she had any idea where it was.

When she arrived, breathing a bit heavily, there _was_ a room though. The door was a light wood, oak she thought, the doorknob brass. She had never seen it before; most of the doors in Hogwarts were from dark woods. It stuck out like a sore thumb.

_Why_ had she never seen it? The Marauders' Map never showed a room there. Maybe it was a room that only appeared on certain days?

Rather than allowing thoughts to consume her once more, Hadley turned the handle and opened the door. What she found there was not at all what she was expecting. Ignoring the fact that walls which should have been stone were instead plaster, it was not somewhere she knew to be in the castle.

It was the living room of the London apartment she had spent the summer in, though more spacious.

The walls were the same warm red, the couches as worn and comfortable looking, complete with transfigured drink holders in the arms. The telly's stand was still across from it, though empty. The biggest differences were that there was a wall where the kitchen should be and that it was _in Hogwarts instead of muggle London_.

"Sweet Circe," Hadley stared in the room, blinking. Harry was seated on the couch, and turned his head around.

"That's right, you wouldn't know this place yet, would you? The elves call it the Come-and-Go room, though most wizards and witches who find it call it the Room of Requirement, I think," Harry shrugged and beckoned she enter. Hadley did so, closing the door behind her, and sat in the brown chair the door had been blocking her view of. It was just as overstuffed and comfortable as she remembered from that summer.

"What _is_ this place?" Hadley asked, gazing around. It _looked_ like their flat's living room. It felt like their flat's living room. But it wasn't. It was most certainly not, because if she went through the front door, painted brown on this side, it would take her to Hogwarts rather than the hall of their building.

"Like I said, the Room of Requirement," Harry was leaning back on the couch. There was some air about him that seemed almost ill at ease. Like he had a headache or – Merlin forbid – had emotions to express. "It makes what you need appear in the room. It can't break the elementary laws – no food or anything – but it's very useful. If right now you needed a book on Defensive spells it would give you one. If you wanted the room to look like the Gryffindor Common Room, it would change into that. I asked it for somewhere comfortable for us to talk. I might've thought of this room when I did, or it might have just plucked the location from my head."

Hadley wasn't sure what to think of that one and could respond with only, "I see." She wasn't sure she did. But she forced her still spinning brain to halt and brought things to the matter at hand. "You _are_ a seer, aren't you?"

"I didn't used to be," Harry shrugged. "But now… hm, I've seen things that would make _Snape's_ greasy hair curl. I suppose you guessed because I knew about all the tasks?"

"And you knew about Neville being good at Herbology, and last summer when Dumbledore visited, you…" she stopped, sighed. "I had help. You… know about Snuffles, right?"

"I wouldn't have expected him to know much about Seers, but I suppose from a family like his it makes sense. I was serious about the offer to let him stay at our flat, but in a few weeks he'll have his own home so there's no point anymore."

Hadley breathed out slightly. He didn't say directly, but he did say things that indicated he knew precisely who she was talking about, and knew things to come about Sirius. He'd seen terrible things… and Hadley didn't have the guts to ask what. It could be her own death, or the Headmaster's, or Voldemort coming into power… too many things to pick from. It was a relief to know that he really _was_ a seer though.

"Tell me what you saw," Harry's voice broke her thoughts, and Hadley jolted slightly. Harry was leaned forward in his seat, looking interested, and Hadley couldn't help but meet his level of interest in the coming conversation.

As someone who never _expressed_, when he did it was hard not to take notice.

So she told him. She told him about how stifling hot it was in Divination that it had perhaps been a dream at first, of riding the eagle owl to a decrepit old house where she had previously dreamed. How Wormtail had taken the owl's letter, not noticing her small form, and what little she remembered of the conversation that followed.

Her only real indication it was real was her scar flaring up in pain afterwards.

When she finished speaking, Harry looked almost disconcerted. Like what she had seen she shouldn't have. Like how she felt, right then.

"You… aren't supposed to see like that," Harry shook his head, slowly. "Your scar is a link to Voldemort. When it works, you're supposed to see through his eyes." Hadley's blood ran cold when he said that. So he had seen eventualities where she could see through Voldemort's eyes. It hadn't ever happened. Twice now she had seen scenes from the perspective of an outsider with her proof of reality being her scar and Dumbledore's word that an old man in a small town had gone missing presumed dead over the summer.

If she was supposed to have viewed those scenes through Voldemort's eyes… what did it mean for her? It couldn't be that seeing ran in the family. Harry was her cousin from the muggle side. If there had been any magical Evanses, she would have been told. But it also couldn't be coincidence.

"Focus on the tournament," Harry said finally. "I'll make sure that the Headmaster helps you work this out after. But for now, focus on getting out of this mess alive."

Harry stood up and left quickly, leaving Hadley to sit and wonder what had happened.

* * *

Harry refused to think on it in the days following. Voldemort dreams were meant to be from Voldemort's perspective, but now that Hadley mentioned it, he _remembered_. He remembered the dream he had during the summer before fourth year with the old man at what he later learned was the Riddle Mansion. He hadn't been in Voldemort's then, but following this old war veteran from the outside. And how he had seen a vision not long before the fourth task.

It was only after Voldemort took his blood that the visions came to be through Voldemort's eyes – or Nagini's, he thought. Once, he had seen through the horcrux in Nagini. But the old man certainly hadn't been a horcrux, nor had the owl.

He wanted to wonder why it happened. He wanted to know why, when he and Hadley first had visions of Voldemort, they really were like _Seeing_ was supposed to be rather than what they would later become. But he couldn't let himself think. He had NEWT exams, which he did intend to do well in, and the fourth task was approaching fast. He had to actually form a plan now, to use his knowledge of the future with real forethought. He had to save Cedric. And, if he could, capture Wormtail to let Sirius go. If Sirius was free and Hadley knew the prophecy early, then maybe Sirius wouldn't have to _die_ and-

By the time the fourth task rolled around, Harry had increased his dosage beyond what it had been before Christmas, to half a phial with each meal. He was surprised, after getting out of his Transfigurations NEWT theory exam for the Great Hall to be reassembled for lunch, to see the entire Weasley clan – or, rather, half of it – sitting at the Gryffindor table. He tried to recall if that had happened for him, but couldn't. Though he was certain they had been at his bedside after the full events of the evening, and that was when they found out about Sirius, so it seemed likely. Dumbledore wouldn't have called Molly to the school just because her son's friend had been nearly killed five times that night.

Harry watched them as the other Slytherin seventh years went over spells likely to be on the practical. There had been record low exam stress incidences that year, or so Anne Davis claimed in the middle of the meal. A few students went to the Hospital wing, but only in the evening or between portions. Harry wondered if, had he not been drugged up to his eyeballs, he would have exam stress. Probably not, though other stresses…

He subtly tipped the half phial of light golden potion into his pumpkin juice when the others were suitably distracted by a frantic Ravenclaw turning a scone into a pygmy hippopotamus. He would wait to drink it, in case someone noticed, though they never did.

The practical began one hour later, and it was just as boring waiting for the examiners to work their way to "P" as with any other exam. It didn't help that OWL and NEWT exams went on at the same time. The OWL students that year were a fairly large class by comparison, only a few shy of the numbers Hadley's class contained. It made the process long and tedious. Harry would rather be setting up, plotting, working.

But he couldn't do that anyway, he supposed. He had to make an appearance before the task began. He had to wish Hadley luck. Say something stupid about not kissing spiders maybe? He felt silly for remembering that riddle. It and the acromantula were all he really remembered of the maze anyway. But something about the sphinx's riddle stuck with him. Perhaps because it was right before the acromantula attacked him and Cedric.

There was only one spell Harry botched in his practical. Attempting to self transfigure his off-hand into a hippogryff's talon did not end well and had to be reversed by the rather odd examiner "Tofty". The same examiner Harry had had for his Divination practical – the man would think Harry was making things up until tonight, if all went according to plan. It was a guaranteed O in that case. "Barty Crouch will be found at the Tournament's end" indeed.

Other than the arm incident, the texture of the fabric on the chair Harry conjured was off, looking like satin but feeling like muslin instead. Everything else was just fine. Perfect even. He might scrape an E if the self transfiguration wasn't counted against him.

Then there was dinner. Harry didn't want to eat. He wasn't hungry any more than Hadley seemed to be across the hall. But he ate some mash, because Higgs looked at him when he didn't start grabbing any food, and it was irresponsible to drink Serenity Solution on an empty stomach. When dinner ended, Harry stood and went to Hadley first. Molly Weasley intercepted.

"Are you the cousin we've heard about?" Her smile was as kind as ever, though her eyes were a little flinty, looking him over to make certain he was worthy of being Hadley's relative, that he was someone who would take care of her until she could do so herself. Her hair was the same color he remembered, a bit more brown than Ron's, a "Prewett red" rather than a "Weasley red" as he had learned at Bill and Fleur's wedding.

She was, however, a lot more alive than last time. Her stomach wasn't ripped open from Bellatrix's cutting curse. Her arm wasn't broken. Her skin wasn't a pale, dead color.

It was a good thing, Harry concluded, that he had taken Serenity Solution only ten minutes prior. Otherwise he might have had emotions. He might have felt the relief he should have. He might have felt the sorrow and the pain and the bliss and collapsed crying into the arms of the mother he never had.

"Harry Potter, ma'am," he smiled a little. It would be pragmatic to make her think he was reserved rather than emotionless. He knew that, if he could feel, the idea of Molly Weasley not liking him would frighten him more than Voldemort ever did. "Mrs Weasley, right?"

"I am indeed," she smiled, "but you can call me Molly, dear." Harry thought that maybe that meant she approved of him, just a little. "Would you like to sit with us for the task?" Fred and George stood behind her snickering.

"Maybe," Harry dodged, "but I'm feeling a bit ill. I was going to wish Hadley luck before I go see Madame Pomfrey, in case I miss the start of the task."

It was easy, after that. Molly mothered, said he did look rather peaky and did he ever eat because he was thinner than Percy even. He gave his hint to Hadley, and escaped with the fewest blips of increased heart rate he could have expected when finally in such close proximity to a family of people who had loved him and died for it.

He did not go to the Hospital Wing, of course. Instead he took out his Cloak of Invisibility and shrouded himself in it, heading to the statue of the one-eyed witch that hid the passage to Honeyduke's cellar.

As he walked, he kept track of the time using Fabian Prewett's old Coming of Age watch. After Ron's lesson he still barely understood how to use it – they apparently told more than the time – but he could at least figure out when the task started. The walk was long. He didn't rush, so by the time he reached the end he supposed Hadley might be about halfway through. The maze was bigger on the inside than the outside after all. The Quidditch stands were high up though, so everyone would be able to see the outer edges of the maze, and maybe even a bit of the central clearing where the Cup waited. It was a big maze, and even if Hadley encountered nothing at all yet, he was certain she would not be at the end until he was ready.

Escaping Honeyduke's was harder than he thought. First, the trap door was stuck – a box had been placed on top of the trap door, despite the charms on it to prevent just that – and then the front door was locked with a spell more complex than Harry could counter. The owner was probably at the Task, come to think of it. He had to settle for escaping through a window, which ate up some time as he tried unlocking spell after unlocking spell until he realized it was held in place by a meter-long dowel.

Five minutes later, Harry apparated to the graveyard, or near it rather. He didn't want to be given away by the crack of apparition, after all. He hiked the rest of the way, silencing the squeaky gate and making his way to what he thought was where Hadley and Cedric would appear. He could see Wormtail tending the fire until the base potion, the bundle of squirming blankets near a head stone obviously Voldemort's current, hideous form.

Hadley was nowhere in sight, nor was Cedric's dead body. Good.

So he waited.

There was a distortion of light three feet to Harry's left, where two bodies fell to the ground. Harry didn't hesitate. He could see in the moonlight which was Cedric, the one that landed partway correctly and grabbed him, wrapping him up in the cloak with him, though they both barely fit, and stunning the other boy before anything could happen. A featherlight spell and a short jog later, and he was apparating away again.

Hadley would be fine. He had been fine after all, and Hadley was basically him with different anatomy. She would be _fine_. He had to save Cedric. He had to save Hadley a summer of guilt and worry. If he could save Cedric, she wouldn't suffer.

If he had saved Cedric, back then he never would have suffered, but he hadn't and Cedric died and what Harry needed was absolution. He needed to save Cedric. He needed to stop all the death that followed him. He needed to get rid of everything, every guilt and pain that ever plagued him. He needed –

Harry dropped Cedric's stunned body to the ground outside the Hogwarts gates and pulled a fresh phial of Serenity from his pocket, taking a quick swallow. He rolled up his invisibility cloak, dropped it to the ground and composed himself.

He was Harry Potter. He did not feel. He could not feel. He had saved Cedric. It was okay.

"Ennervate," Harry intoned, his holly wand waving over Cedric's prone body. The younger boy – and wasn't it odd to think of Cedric as younger than him, because Cedric had always been the heroic, popular, good guy type Harry could aspire to be – jolted, looking around, then up. His wand was out, but Harry quickly disarmed him.

"Where are we? What did you do to Hadley?" Cedric's tone was deadly serious. He was getting up, looking mad, looking defensive.

"We're outside Hogwarts' gates, and I never did anything to Hadley," Harry answered quickly. He could tell that Cedric was about ready to hit him, and wanted none of it. He hadn't been hit physically since the last time Dudley caught him, and that was _years_ ago. It hadn't been pleasant. "The cup was a portkey to Voldemort, set up by a follower. He set up the whole tournament so that Hadley would win and be used in a ritual. I just saved your life. You weren't supposed to be there. You would have been dead for three minutes by now if I hadn't taken you away."

"How do you know that then?" Cedric wasn't looking any less hostile, though he seemed to have recognized where they were. Harry almost pitied him for his emotions. The fear he must feel from the sudden kidnapping. The confusion, the betrayal, the anger… all of it. Harry couldn't stand to feel all of that. "Are you a… a Death Eater or something?"

"I saw it, you can talk to Dumbledore if you don't believe me," Harry shook his head. He had to dissuade Cedric now. Cedric, unlike Harry, didn't have a "seeker's build". He could do some damage if he decided to hit Harry. Harry did not need to be damaged. "Voldemort would have said 'Kill the spare', and Hadley would have seen you die. She would have brought your body back, when she escaped, and cried once the shock wore off. Your parents would have cursed her one day, then apologized the next when she tried to give them your share of the winnings. I saved you so she wouldn't feel guilty about not being able. All she'll think is that the portkey didn't grab you, that maybe she grabbed it a half second before you did, or you realized what was wrong and let go."

"Then why not save her too? Or instead? You… you're Harry Potter, right?" Cedric was squinting at him in the low light now. "I heard you were related, her cousin or something. Why the hell not save her?"

"This has to happen, I haven't seen anything where it hasn't that turned out any better," which wasn't a lie. Harry was very careful not to lie. Tell half truths, omit things, even answer a question with the answer to a different one, but he didn't dare lie. Wizards had too many ways to sniff out lies. "We'll go back to the field and warn Dumbledore. I've already seen what happens there. Hadley will need some medical attention, and someone needs to warn him about Moody."

"Wha- Moody? Mad-Eye Moody? Our defense instructor?" Now Cedric was looking at him like he was mad. Harry realized, belatedly, he'd entirely skipped out on that bit. "But that… oh. Oh. Dumbledore said Moody was the one to take the cup to the center of the maze. He… but he's _Mad-Eye Moody_! He caught most of the Death Eaters in Azkaban! He can't be…"

"Moody isn't Moody, that's all I can say," Harry shook his head. "We need to warn Dumbledore."

Cedric stood silent, and Harry let him think. He wondered, in the back of his head, how much longer until Hadley escaped. Long enough to reach the field, probably, if Cedric was in any condition to run. He hadn't seen any injuries, but who knew? The maze was brutal, after all.

"I'll warn Dumbledore, you make sure Hadley gets out alive from… whatever you let her walk into," Cedric stated finally. "I barely know her, but she's your family. Get her back to Hogwarts so we can split the victory, the winnings, everything, understand? It was a _Hogwarts win_, and it's going to stay that way." His gaze was like stone under the moon's wan light. Harry wondered if he had ever been this stubborn. He couldn't remember, and he'd never seen Cedric so determined, but as Cedric said, they barely knew each other, in this reality or any other.

So Harry nodded.

"Tell Dumbledore I sent you, he'll believe you after that," was all Harry said before turning, scooping up his cloak, and disapparating.

The sound of his apparition was covered by many others as black cloaked figures appeared throughout the graveyard. Harry crept forward, careful of his feet and hoping Nagini wouldn't detect any taste in the air that didn't belong with all the other scents to obfuscate things, and he waited.

* * *

When Hadley landed, she thought there was a second thud. She thought she had heard Cedric's breath near her ear, and a mutter of unrecognizable syllables, but when she dragged herself on her hands and knees, there was nothing. Cedric wasn't there, only a rather menacing graveyard, old fashioned and overcrowded with crosses, angels, and the occasional larger statue for some rich family.

She was almost relieved that Cedric hadn't been pulled along. There was no way this was part of the task. No, definitely not. She had the cup, it was just two feet away, laying on its side and shining brightly with both inner light and the reflected moonlight.

Using the nearest gravestone to help her to her feet, Hadley stood to properly survey the area. Her probably-broken leg screamed at the weight she placed on it, so the gravestone became her crutch as she turned slowly to see if she could figure out where she was and how to get help. A glimmer of light to her right caught her attention and, as she turned to face it, a call of "Petrificus Totalus!" rang out.

She was stiff as a board and fell to the ground again before she could even think to dodge.

From there it was the stuff of nightmares. Knowing Peter Pettigrew had shared the beds of two different young boys did not in any way abate Hadley's fear when his fat, sweaty face appeared near her, when his grubby hands started dragging her toward a cauldron. His nails were long and ragged, digging into the ankle he had taken to drag her by, only accentuating the pain in that leg. Her head bounced on rocks in the ground, lumps in the thin grass, a tree root or two, and he only withdrew his wand – only she knew it wasn't his because she remembered Ollivander's description of Voldemort's wand all too well – to levitate her over a steaming cauldron.

She feared he was going to drop her in. Use her as potion ingredients and boil her alive. Or maybe he was a cannibal now. She'd heard male rats ate their own young. Or was it that they were like some animals that ate any young that _wasn't_ theirs? Maybe she was the main ingredient in his stew he was making.

It was almost a relief when she was instead hit with a rope spell that tied her to the large grave stone looming over the cauldron.

Then it really started. The bones torn from the grave at her feet. Wormtail cutting off his own hand, the one that was missing a finger, the only definitive evidence that he was Wormtail. And then using that same knife to cut deep into her left forearm, where he thankfully missed the artery that might have killed her if it was cut.

A mass of blankets was opened to reveal a writhing, sickly pale, and altogether disgusting creature that could only be Voldemort. She never got to see him in those dreams, but she wasn't surprised by his form. Only disgusted. She wanted it to die in that cauldron. To drown. But Dumbledore had said Voldemort wasn't truly dead, so maybe now he still wasn't truly alive either. Hadn't Firenze said that unicorn blood made one live a "half life"?

Voldemort would survive this, she knew, and worse, he would be the stronger for it.

Worse, she would find, was that he would made whole again, and it was her presence that was instrumental to this. He was strong enough to call his Death Eaters, to talk to them, to prove exactly how alive he now was. To call them out for betraying him, and cast the Unforgiveable torture spell on them to _prove a point_.

That Voldemort was back, and he was strong, and he was in charge of them once more.

Then he spoke of his most loyal, who was at Hogwarts. His most loyal who had entered Hadley in the Tournament, and helped her in secret to make sure that she won. The servant who made everything before them possible, because the rest were too afraid.

There were three people who helped Hadley, or tried to anyway, in a real noticeable way. Bagman was dismissed out of hand. Sure, he had been incriminated in a Death Eater scandal not long before joining the Ministry, but he was Ludo bloody Bagman. He was harmless, and transparent. Fred and George revealed easily enough that he was a gambler – he had probably bet on her because of the low odds and high payout to fix his debt.

Mad-Eye was another, but he was Mad-Eye Moody. Crazy, certainly, but in league with Voldemort? Not bloody likely.

And then there was… Harry.

Harry, who "rescued" her from the Dursleys to gain her trust. Harry, who gave her the hints and tips that got her top marks in the first two tasks. Harry who not two hours ago had handed her the key to the sphinx's riddle, making it all the more likely that she would reach the cup first.

Harry was a Death Eater. And he had turned her over to Voldemort, likely with all the emotionlessness he had ever portrayed to her. He probably hadn't even thought he was betraying her. No one else could have given Hadley that much help from the shadows.

As Voldemort continued, Hadley stopped listening. The pain of the betrayal turned to rage, and then determination. She would escape. She would escape, and give Harry such a kick in the balls he would wish for the Kiss. She would tell the world what happened here, that Voldemort was back, that she was going to kill him and make Harry pay for betraying her like this and making Voldemort's return possible.

He had lied. He had handed her over to the one thing that could be called her enemy.

When Voldemort was untying her to duel, Hadley was a ball of determined rage, not even noticing the pain in her leg as she fell two feet onto the broken one. If her little tantrum at Ron during the Ball made him think "there's no fury like a woman scorned", she wondered what people would think of what she would do to Harry.

Best case scenario, justice. Worst case, torture. She didn't care either way.

Even Voldemort's Cruciatus couldn't bleed it from her, her will to live and see her vengeance meted out. Then their spells met, and shades of her family came out. For a few minutes, her rage was forgotten. The old man from her dream, and the woman who had been in the papers reported missing since summer, they came out first. Then Hadley's mum and dad left the wand that killed them.

She couldn't believe it.

Their voices were far away as they spoke, but they were still there. Telling her to fight, to win, how she could escape.

"You're right, I have to escape, I have to make this right," Hadley's face twisted as she forced another bead of light toward Voldemort. The Death Eaters were still scrambling outside.

"I know that face," her father's ghostly voice was serious. "That's Lily's 'someone's going to get it' face."

"Aimed at the wrong person," Lily's voice was more peaceful than in Hadley's one memory of the woman. Then again, when not faced with the prospect of dying, why wouldn't she be? "We can watch things, a little. I think I know what you're thinking, little dove. Don't jump to conclusions. Save your hatred for those who deserve it. Wait until you're sure. That boy only has the best in mind for you."

"But Mum-"

"Listen to her," the other woman said. "I was older than them, a few years ahead in school, but Lily Evans always had a good eye. Whoever it is, if she says they aren't to blame…" she smiled, shrugged. "You're Hadley Potter. Your mother had a reputation."

"We can distract him," Lily said. "We can distract him and you can escape. The portkey will work again. Just run and don't look back. Don't even pause to throw a spell."

"You have a guardian angel, dove," James smiled. "Let him do the work this time. Go!"

So Hadley ran, and she didn't look back, but as she grabbed the portkey, leg screaming in pain, she could hear Harry's voice shouting curses, and she wondered.

**Author's Note: I gotta admit, having a deadline for myself – sometime before midnight Wednesday (though preferably before midnight Tuesday) every week – does get me writing. Which is a reminder to everyone who asks me to "update soon" that updates are **_**always**_** sometime on Wednesday. Could be the wee hours of the morning. Could be sometime in the middle of the day. But it will be out Wednesday, even if that means I realize I have four thousand more words to write and have to give up on Skyrim for the day (and I hate you all now because I have to give it back to my friend tomorrow. Now I'll never know how the Dark Brotherhood quest line ends). Stop telling me to update soon. It won't change anything except make me consider updating Thursdays instead, just to fuck with you (which is a terrible idea because I have D&D on Thursdays).**

**By the by, that's Pacific time (GMT-8) just like what the site runs on. So if you live on the east coast of the US or Europe or something… deal with it.**


	10. Knife in the Dark

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Joanne Kathleen Rowling and associates, of whom I am not one. This is a rewrite of a fic from 4 years ago.

Warnings: AU, mentions of child abuse, ongoing theme of drug abuse, some character bashing (but only such that it follows canon and canon trends), spoilers through Deathly Hallows, coarse language, some minor OCs.

Chapter 10: Knife in the Dark

Harry was in over his head, but at least he was aware of the fact. He wasn't stupid, wasn't self-sacrificial, wasn't rushing into the heat of the moment. It was a calculated risk. He'd seen Hadley fighting Voldemort, desperate, how badly she limped, even if she didn't realize it. The endorphins must have been heavenly, or they would have been if she hadn't been in such a rage.

It had been as Voldemort described his most faithful follower that she became angry. He couldn't help but wonder why; Harry remembered this night quite well, better than any of the rest of his fourth year certainly. He had never been angry really, just desperate, afraid, and determined.

Maybe it was a hormone thing.

Still, Harry took that into account, and the way that he could feel the shades of his parents, the ministry lady, and the old muggle staring at him through his cloak. Could the dead see through Death's own cloak? Or perhaps it was because the shades from a Priori Incantatem were so similar to the ones that came from the Resurrection Stone he kept on a chain under his shirt. They knew he was there, either way. And though they said nothing to him and he couldn't read lips, he thought his parents, Hadley's parents, were trusting him to guard her escape.

The Priori Incantatem was more impressive from the outside, he decided. Sure, being levitated two feet off the ground surrounded by an orb of moving golden light and phoenix song coming from one's own wand was amazing, an experience that could be compared to no other, but seeing it from the outside…

The Death Eaters were panicked, trying to think of how to help their Lord, their Lord who didn't want their help. They could not physically pass the barrier, nor could any spell penetrate it, and some of those who Harry supposed must be more evil than other, more steeped in dark magic, could barely stand against the Phoenix song. Harry supposed he should feel reassured that he really hadn't ever gone dark, knowing that the song in the hair only made his blood hum with adrenaline and pressed at his potion laden mind to bring a smile to his face, but all he truly managed to feel was _certain_. Certain he would make it out alive, and so would Hadley, and that was what mattered.

The exact moment Hadley was dropping the connection, Harry knew. He saw the specters swarm Voldemort, and thanked them silently. There was no way he would escape completely intact if he had the newly risen Dark Lord on his hands too. As it was, there were more Death Eaters present than he could ever dream to fight.

He kept his cloak on as he started throwing stunners. He wasn't stupid, he didn't want to be found. His only advantages were that they could not detect him except to trace where his spells came from (and he _ran_ the moment he cast to make that useless, or close to it) and the element of surprise. Their only foe was meant to be a fourteen year-old girl after all. They weren't expecting an invisible, older, male version of that girl who had spent a year camped out in the English countryside with nothing better to do than practice quick casting.

He'd practiced dodging a bit too, having realized that shield spells were easy to break with the dark spells favored by the opposition. Sometimes after casting he would move behind the nearest tombstone. Sometimes in front of it, low to the ground so debris would fly over him. Sometimes he would sprint between several and end up well out of the firing spells. In the beginning, he had only one goal; hith Hadley gone ten seconds in, he had none, and was ready to disapparate on the spot – until he saw a huddled form in black with a hand of liquid silver.

He was going to save Sirius. He was going to right his wrong, in allowing Wormtail to be spared, so long ago. He needed his godfather – Hadley's godfather, he reminded himself, this Sirius might even despise him, much as the though pressed against his Serene barrier – free. Free so that any chance of him dying in a year's time was gone. Hadley knew the prophecy, but she still might go running if Sirius was in danger. If Sirius being in danger was more easily debunked, if the chance was nil, it wouldn't happen at all.

So as Harry kept things interesting, he made his way to the nervous form of Pettigrew. He stopped casting entirely a minute before he made it to the rat, the last spell being a silencing charm on his feet to make him a little harder to find. The second to last spell was one that made a loud crack noise, like he had disapparated. He crept up behind the man, held the holly wand an inch away from the small of his back, and as quickly as could be, a stunner was cast.

Harry grabbed Wormtail, and apparated away to Hogsmeade.

The fact that he managed it at all… blood was singing in his ears, the adrenaline still racing. Harry had never done anything like it. He'd barely been on the winning side in the war, could hardly believe he'd managed to evade so many Death Eaters all at once. He'd heard Voldemort could trace apparition, but he wouldn't. Probably. Just in case, Harry levitated Wormtail ahead of him quickly as he passed through the gates to Hogwarts, not removing his cloak until he could see the Pitch. He still breathed heavily, unused to the exertion of all the short sprints he had done. The past year had perhaps been the most sedentary of his life, after all.

Approaching the Pitch, Harry knew something was wrong. The maze was gone, collapsed back down he supposed, something that, for him, hadn't been done until the day after the Tournament. Noise other than cheering for the winners or heated debate about Voldemort's return rose in the air. He could hear… crying, he thought, though mostly it was silent to his ears. In reality, it was mostly stunned muttering, but Harry lacked Extendable Ears considering they had yet to be invented.

Wary, he stunned Peter a second time, adding an incarcerous to the mix, and a simple sticking charm to make him stick to the dirt path. Unfortunately, he didn't know the spell to prevent animagus transformation, but it was the best he could do. Harry shoved his invisibility cloak in his pocket and started jogging toward the pitch.

He hadn't been mistaken about the crying.

Although there was no grand scene of Hadley slumped over Cedric's corpse sobbing, and Mr Diggory screaming, there wasn't a stoic or smiling face in the entire stadium. Harry could pick out Mrs Weasley clutching her younger children to her at the base of one stand, and Bill both holding Hadley back from running and trying to soothe her. The Diggory parents were holding each other tightly outside the Medical Tent that was set up just outside where the maze's entrance had been.

Dumbledore, ever visible in his lurid purple robes, was having a stand-off with Cornelius Fudge over a fallen body with blond hair. Harry's heart leapt into his throat.

* * *

Colliding heavily with the ground, bad leg first, for the fourth time in the past hour was a _terrible_ experience. Endorphins were a lovely thing, had kept her afloat until this point, but the last collision with the ground was apparently not okay, even if the previous impact had been less than a minute beforehand.

Hadley whimpered as she struck the ground, Triwizard Cup falling limply from her fingers that twitched open in pain. The portkey rolled a meter or two away, a sort of bouncing roll to accommodate the arched silver handles as it tumbled away, the springy grass of the pitch helping it along.

Looking into the crowd before her, Hadley could see it was helping them along too, and in no way she would ever, could ever… She mewled pathetically and fell to her knees.

She had escaped one battle, yes, perhaps with the help of Harry if she hadn't been hearing things, but what she walked into was a serious hostage situation. Or, so she would discover minutes later. For now, what she saw made no sense, it made her want to scream and rail and just lock everyone up and make them explain individually what the bloody hell was going on.

For not ten meters in front of her, Professor Dumbledore and every other Professor of Hogwarts, as well as several other witches and wizards and the hired security detail all had their wands on Professor Mad-Eye Moody. And Moody… Moody didn't have his wand on any of them. His awkward gash of a mouth was crooked, his blue eyes twirling madly so that none of them would take him by surprise, and his beady black eye gazed straight at Dumbledore. One hand gripped his wand, and the other had a firm grip on a stiff-as-a-board Cedric Diggory.

Moody's wand was to the Champion's temple, and as Hadley realized this, words started filtering in.

"It's too late, Dumbledore! The deed is done by now, the girl is _gone!_" Moody's voice wasn't right though. It was different. "You dropped the maze yourself."

He hadn't noticed her yet, not that it was any advantage. If she shot a spell, he would… and then Cedric would be… Hadley swallowed past the lump in her throat. She barely knew Cedric of course. They hadn't talked much, even as fellow Champions. He was on her side in the whole "did she enter or not" debate, but otherwise he was just another cute older boy she didn't really know. The big difference was that they competed against each other and she knew his name.

But she wasn't going to risk his _life_. She thanked whatever deities – or legendary wizards – she could think of that Cedric hadn't been taken by the portkey with her. Moody was apparently insane, but he wasn't a killer. She heard he was among the aurors who resisted using the Unforgiveables in combat at all cost. He wouldn't _kill_ Cedric, surely, not like Voldemort would have.

Unless he was pushed to do so. Hadley bit the inside of her cheek, trying to push the pain away to stand again. It was hard. She had to ignore Cedric's plight – there was nothing she could _do_ – and she had to pretend she couldn't feel her shin bone trying to finish piercing through her skin. She managed.

"Alastor, many concessions have been made for you this past year, too many it would now seem," Dumbledore's voice was low, harder than Hadley had ever heard it. She had heard him being grave of course, telling her the truth of her parents will, the prophecy, and at some of their private talks in earlier years, but never had she heard him so deadly _serious_. "I can offer you only one concession, if you let the boy down. I can make sure you live."

"Live? You don't have power over my life, and you never have, _old man_," Moody's chuckle was coarse, but each successive sound seemed less so. "No, only one man has that power, and I would hesitate to bring him down to the level of humanity. No, he's more, more, so _much more!_"

His grin was utterly manic, and his blond hair was fluttering in a breeze of magic. Hadley's brain paused. Blond? Moody's hair was a sort of salt-and-pepper. Not _blond_.

Her efforts to move were forgotten as she watched. A pair of hands grabbed her shoulders lightly, and she barely registered Bill's voice as he coerced her into moving with him to the relative safety of the base of the stands where Molly and the other Weasley's stood, wands out and wary. He cast a spell on her leg to keep it steady, and made sure to keep himself between the stand-off and her.

Moody… he wasn't Moody, she realized. His hair was slowly shortening and turning blonder, the scars had been vanishing on by one, face slimming and nose straightening. He didn't even seem to notice, not until, quite suddenly, his leg started to regrow and pushed the pegleg out of the socket, knocking his balance entirely off.

His eyes widened as he suddenly began plummeting to the grass, Cedric's body only helping to weight down his fall, and Hadley wanted to scream, to urge someone to do something. Two flashes of light went off at the same time. One raced for Moody, and the other was directly against Cedric Diggory's head.

Cedric screamed. He _screamed_. Hadley realized the spell that had been on the tip of not-Moody's tongue had been the Cruciatus. She knew his pain, though she thought Voldemort's would have been stronger. After all, Voldemort's Imperius had been stronger than Moody's. Maybe Cedric would be okay, even though he continued screaming even after that mere moment under the curse. A stunner had taken not-Moody out the moment they struck earth and the magic eye fell out.

The security wizards rushed in and bound Moody, leaving his body to lie as it shrank from the once-burly physique to more lithe, half-starved, and young body. Hadley could barely see from her angle, but something was so familiar about the man. Something that made her want him _dead_.

Of course, now that she had seen that, she had not a single doubt in her head that he was the one responsible for everything. He was Voldemort's knife in the dark, the one who put her name in the goblet. He was the one who did it all, not Harry. She felt silly for thinking ill of Harry so quickly, Harry who only helped her, when Moody was the one put on probation half the year, Moody was the one who was casting illegal spells and overly hostile to most people. It was so obvious, now, but she supposed it was due to the doubts she had harbored over Harry for months that made her jump to such conclusions.

Now… now she wanted to kick Moody in the balls. And give Harry a hug. And Merlin, she wanted to _cry_ and… she wanted chocolate. Definitely chocolate.

Moody was down. Cedric was unconscious and being levitated to the medical tent while Madame Pomfrey ran beside him, running diagnostics at the same time. Her lips were pursed, thinner than even Petunia managed when she was getting ready to swing a frying pan at her.

Bill's grip on her finally relaxed. "I have to go talk to Dumbledore," Hadley stated the moment it happened, looking up at Bill and daring him to refuse her.

Unfortunately, Mrs Weasley was the one to reply. "Hadley dear, the Headmaster is rather busy at the moment," her smile was kind, and Hadley knew that it was meant kindly, but that didn't make it right. Mrs Weasley had already betrayed her and Hermione once in the past year. And while Hadley adored Mrs Weasley, saw her as the mother she never had…

"Don't coddle me Mrs Weasley," Hadley's fingernails, blunt and gnawed down as they were, still bit into her palms enough to remind her that this was _Mrs Weasley_ and blowing up would not be a bright idea. "I've been attacked by creatures and broken my leg and been hit by two different Unforgiveable curses tonight. I don't care if you think I'm five, you can go back to pretending it tomorrow, but right now… tonight I'm not Hadley. I'm the Girl-Who-Lived, and I need to tell Dumbledore what happened. _Now_."

She was proud of how level her voice remained. It reminded her a bit of Harry, really, how flat she managed to make her tone, and if it weren't for the fact that she was shaking from pain and her own bullheaded determination, she might wonder if that was how Harry was all the time. He wasn't of course.

Mrs Weasley was less than impressed.

"Please Hadley, you can wait until they've dealt with _that man_ to arrange a meeting with the Headmaster," she stated adamantly. "Sit down and rest. Get your weight of that leg and let yourself think." The Weasley matriarch reached out an arm to Hadley, but the girl stepped back pointedly.

"Mrs Weasley, you don't understand! Whoever that man is, he- he doesn't matter! Not after what I saw five bloody minutes ago!" Staying calm was much harder than she thought. It was a good thing Hadley wasn't aspiring to Harry's level of stoicism.

"Hadley Lily Potter! You will watch your mouth!" Mrs Weasley's sugary tone was now rather more menacing, threatening a scourgify to Hadley's mouth. But what more could be expected from a housewife with no understanding of what had happened. Ron, thankfully, jumped to Hadley's defense.

"Mum, if Hadley says what happened wherever she was gone is more important, you should listen!" His ears were a little red as he did so. "This sort of thing happens every year, and every time…"

"Is it like when you saved me?" Ginny was quieter than usual when she looked at Hadley. Hadley wanted to nod, to say it wasn't any worse than that. But how could she? This was _Voldemort_, not some imprint and a basilisk.

Voldemort was technically human, and that made him more frightening than any dark creature.

"Enough of this," Mrs Weasley decided to put her foot down then. "Hadley, sit down and wait for Madame Pomfrey to have time to attend you. I'm certain whatever it is can wai-"

"It can't wait! Unless you think _Voldemort_ being back is less important than some nutter unconscious on the lawn, I'm going to go to Dumbledore _right now_!" Hadley was honestly angry now. How could Mrs Weasley trivialize her like this? She'd even told the woman she had been under two different Unforgiveables that night, and the woman simply didn't care!

No. She cared. Hadley regretted even thinking that Mrs Weasley didn't care, because it was so far from the truth. Mrs Weasley cared, but if caring too much would hurt her too deeply… Hadley could see the woman simply not listening.

Her outburst had the intended effect, at least partially. Mrs Weasley froze, her eyes wide, before gathering Ron and Ginny to her in a smothering hug as if an embrace now would save them any danger in the future. Unfortunately, when Hadley turned to stalk across the field to where Dumbledore argued with the Minister over something she couldn't hear, Bill grabbed her shoulders. When she resisted, he pulled her into a bear hug.

"Hadley, it's not that it can wait, but that it has to," Bill's voice was calm, soothing even. "The Headmaster is _arguing_ with the Minister. I don't know what about. I don't know what Diggory told them when he came running up from Hogsmeade, no one does. But whatever is going on, you _have_ to let them settle this first, or the Minister might not take you seriously. Or it make Professor Dumbledore lose his argument. We don't _know_. But… I think he might already know what you need to tell him. Just give him a minute to finish this up first."

Later, Hadley would discover that Dumbledore was fighting for the right to have not-Moody interrogated before being sent to Azkaban. The Minister wanted him put straight there, between the sweet words of Malfoy in one ear and the overwhelming evidence of wrong-doing before his very nose. Not that Dumbledore thought the imposter at all innocent, not by any means, but rather that he would like to know the full extent of the crimes and see if his friend's name could be cleared on the matter of the Imperius incident months ago, or the even exploding bins before that.

Crouch was about to concede and even allow Dumbledore the right to view the interrogation via pensieve the interrogation to happen then and there, with veritaserum provided by Hogwarts' own Potions Master.

Then Harry showed up and everything was bollixed.

* * *

"Cedric…" Harry's breath was caught as he started racing across the rest of the distance to where Dumbledore and Fudge argued. He had to see if Cedric was alive. And if he wasn't. If Cedric was dead, he would… he would have to avenge the boy. He knew of only one person present who would commit the crime and if he had harmed Cedric…

The distance was short, but so was Harry's breath when he arrived, between his previous bouts of exercise and his encroaching _emotions_. He even slumped in relief when he could see the body. Straw. The hair was straw blond. And he could see the face now, too slim for Cedric, the body too lanky.

"You got him… Cedric is safe, you got him, he _told _you…" Harry collapsed to the grass, willing his blood to chill and his heart to slow. Maybe if he had continued his occlumancy in sixth year he would have. Snape's "clear your mind" shit might actually have worked then, considering the potions.

"Do back away, boy, we have business here," Fudge waved a hand at Harry dismissively, his eyes not leaving Dumbledore's for a moment. "Albus, the best I can offer is that a copy of the interrogation be mailed to you. You have the power to view it either way, with your position on the wizengamot, but you do _not_ have the right to take part in an official interrogation any more than I do! Any questions you asked, the answers wouldn't be admissible in court."

"I understand, Cornelius, however-" Harry, however, was having none of it, and cut Dumbledore off then and there.

"You actually want a trial for him, after all he's done? Barty Crouch, Jr?" was it Harry's fault he was incredulous? The evidence was equally incriminating for this as Sirius, but they wanted and interrogation _and_ trial. Sirius had received the courtesy of neither. "He's already been sentenced for life once, _with_ a trial, which was more than most of that lot ever got; he's held every student of this school fourth year and up under the imperious curse, has had the real Mad-Eye Moody under that same curse since September, Viktor Krum under it tonight, and illegally confunded the _Goblet of Fire_ into allowing a fourth entrant, and you think he deserves a _trial_? Never mind the fact that he murdered his own father just last mo-"

"Quiet!" Dumbledore's voice echoed in the stadium despite the lack of sonorus charm. "My boy, would you kindly report to the medical tent? I do believe you have suffered a bit tonight. I suggest finding Ms Potter and making sure she is attended to."

"Crouch, Jr?" Fudge's voice was snide. "Albus, whoever this boy is, he needs a mind healer. Barty Crouch's son died in Azkaban years ago, buried on the island like any of his ilk. I don't know who this man is but he _certainly_ isn't Barty Crouch, Jr."

Harry still wasn't entirely calm. Small strings of emotions wound their way through him, rousing the tiniest spark of ire for the man before him. The one responsible for a year of torture at the hands of Dolores Umbridge for not only Harry, but so many students. The man whose ignorance could easily take the blame for Sirius' death and the state of affairs after Voldemort rise.

That tiny spark was already overwhelming for him.

"He'll tell you! When you dose him with veritaserum you'll learn he's Barty Crouch, Jr, and that he escaped Azkaban when his dad went to visit him as his mum's last wish before she died. He'll tell you about the Polyjuice Potion they took to swap places until she died and until he pretended to die as his own mum. How he's been under the imperious curse ever since with no one but the house-elf know- _Winky!_"

And so she appeared. And she saw what appeared to be the corpse of her young master, and she cried, hiccupping, clutching at him until a security wizard yanked her off and stunned her, tiny form slumping in his grasp.

Harry thought he won then. That he helped Dumbledore win, that Fudge would finally hear the man interrogated and sentenced and the world might know about Voldemort's return.

"Albus, I demand you have this boy removed immediately! I want to know his name and make sure no mad man like that ever works in my Ministry!" Fudge was halfway blown up, trying to look intimidating as he stared up his nose at Dumbledore, and then not much down it at Harry. "And furthermo- Ah! Excellent! It seems the prisoner's escort has arrived!"

From across the field, three red-robed aurors and a dementor made their way. From the same direction as Harry had come, now he thought of it. He had often idly wondered what effect a dementor would have on him now that could couldn't feel despair, but perhaps he still wouldn't find out. Compared to normal he might as well be bawling his eyes out and screaming at the unfairness of the world.

A moment later, he almost wished he could.

The dementor swung wildly away from his handlers suddenly and descended upon a rather inconspicuous portion of the grounds outside the Pitch. There might have been a half a breath of a scream before the unmistakable glow of black light from a Dementor's Kiss illuminated the area. He couldn't see what happened, really, but Harry knew. He knew _exactly_ what had happened. He wanted to throw up._  
_

Wormtail was... Sirius' _ticket to freedom_... he had just had his soul sucked dry. No one else would have been over there.

Certainly he was _alive_, in body least ways, which might do something about the whole affair, but his soul was gone. Harry had been told that the mind of a truly soulless man was impossible for even the most talented Legilimens to traverse and come out sane.

Pettigrew couldn't give testimony. He could exist, at best. And Sirius...

A large black dog that had been seated with the Headmaster at the judge's panel whined.

* * *

An hour later, Harry was seated on his bed in the London apartment. His excuse, when getting special permission from Dumbledore, was that he was seeing too many terrible things. In reality, he needed somewhere to go and quietly take a little too much Serenity Solution to calm his nerves. Everything had gone wrong that night, or almost everything. He was certain of it.

Wormtail's soul had been eaten before he had even been turned in to the aurors. While that meant that the dementor was put down then and there, completely and utterly destroyed it, it also meant the destruction of Harry's half-baked plan.

It wasn't his Sirius sitting up with Hadley in the infirmary right now, meeting Mrs Weasley for the first time. It wasn't his Sirius at all, but he still wanted the man free. Free so his Sirius could be symbolically, to make up for getting Sirius killed, to spare Hadley the pain that could easily have sent her over the edge...

Instead, he was stupid.

The only bright side to that one was that Crouch _hadn't_ been kissed, he supposed. The overenthusiastic dementor was put down immediately, and when they took Crouch it was in shackles. When they took Wormtail, it was with a soft-handed healer and a plethora of people trying to figure out who he was and why he was there. It was only his silver hand that gave away he wasn't a muggle to them.

Harry had barely remembered to tell the Headmaster where he could find the real Alastor Moody before he had left the grounds and apparated home. Hadley would probably have to relive the night for them now, but he knew Dumbledore would come to him for a second view, maybe even a direct memory.

Not even two hours after the event and he was started to have trouble keeping the memory of when it happened to him separate from when he was simply an outsider, observing.

There was no denying that Dumbledore would come for answers. And Harry even had some idea of what he would ask.

_Mr Potter, why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you stop it? How long did you know about Crouch? How long did you know about Voldemort? How long did you plan to save Cedric and not Hadley? Why did you leave Peter on the lawn? Didn't you See that they would bring a dementor? Why didn't you see it? Why weren't you seen?_

_How did you come by that fascinating cloak?_

__The barrage of questions wasn't real, but Harry winced at the last regardless. He had a lot to answer for. But maybe, if he was lucky... maybe Dumbledore would still keep the hands off approach from the school year.

The buzzer rang, and Harry stood, ready to face the music.

**A/n: And so concludes Year Four. The next two years will be shorter definitely – Year 6 will end with chapter 20 if all the chapters go according to plan (current chapter plans stretch to chapter 21 - October - but they can definitely change! Already the story is quite different from how I thought a month ago). Chapter 8 was the only reason this one is still where I intended - the plan for it was terrible and ended up totally changed anyway and covered both more and less ground than it was meant to so… yeah.**

**I know people were happy I left Cedric alive – but I never said he would remain that way, or whole. Wait to see what happened in during the summer chapter(s), I suppose. It was a hostage situation with intent to kill no matter what, Crouch just hoped to be able to escape first. Harry's plans aren't perfect. Because he doesn't feel, he forgets to take emotion into account. Cedric's panic last chapter, Dumbledore own reluctance to believe, Moody's desperation – he can't account for it because he thinks "what would I do?" and sort of forgets how big an impact emotion is for people who feel in regular quantities. So are you really surprised that Cedric isn't all hunky dory?**

**When Harry feels, he feels too much. He doesn't remember to compare how he felt when emoting normally to how he felt after the emotion compulsion. He just… he doesn't think about it. As much as he hates to feel, he has forgotten how much it really influences people.**

**Playing Fable 2 right now (thus why I realized at 1 am that the chapter was only half done). So good. Wish I'd borrowed my boyfriend's Xbox sooner! Next on the list is Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood. Maybe then I'll understand Sassy Creed. (Then again, Kibs actually hasn't played much either so… maybe not.)**


	11. Keep Going

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Joanne Kathleen Rowling and associates, of whom I am not one. This is a rewrite of a fic from 4 years ago.

Warnings: AU, mentions of child abuse, ongoing theme of drug abuse, some character bashing (but only such that it follows canon and canon trends), spoilers through Deathly Hallows, coarse language, some minor OCs.

Chapter 11: Keep Going

Harry was only getting stranger and stranger, Hadley had observed when he picked her up from the train station on June twenty-seventh. She had seen him interrupt Dumbledore and Fudge of course, though aside from Dumbledore saying that the altercation was one he would have preferred Harry to have avoided, she knew nothing more of it.

However, he had left after the Kissing of Wormtail. Hadley was very angry about that one. She could understand – he had probably captured the man thinking to do a favor or something and left him trussed up until he could be properly collected by authorities and forgotten to mention it in the face of everything. But he was a Seer and he was supposed to know what would happen before it did! He wasn't like Trelawney who could only do a cold reading – something Hermione had explained when Hadley had started wondering if the old fraud really could do anything – he could actually see the future!

Maybe not every moment of every possible future. Sirius had tried explaining that in the Hospital Wing, that Harry had probably seen many moments in many futures and not that the path he followed would result in Wormtail's effective death.

But still, Hadley wanted to rail against the world that was so unfair as to keep her godfather from her, maybe for forever now, if the Ministry wouldn't for some reason allow Sirius a fair trial.

A week of staying at the London flat helped her realize he wasn't at fault for it any more than she was. He didn't See that there would be a dementor, and that was that. She couldn't get mad at him because his ability didn't show him one thing. Surely in the past year of him having it there had been many such instances. He might not have foreseen Ron's treatment of her or the petty way the Daily Prophet treated her and Hermione.

She gave him the cold shoulder that week regardless.

That didn't mean she was ignorant to his behavior. He was spending a lot of time in his room and would set up an Imperturbable barrier every time – he said it wasn't to keep her out but to keep the fumes from his potions brewing in. When he wasn't in his room, he looked drawn. His eyes were always half-lidded, his skin was suddenly losing the tan it had held throughout the entire school year, his hair was getting matted in the back from lack of care.

He always attended meals with her, even if he only ordered out or they threw together sandwiches, and that was how Hadley knew he wasn't eating. Well, he was, a little, but only a few bites of any given meal. He cleared his plate only by virtue of putting nearly nothing on it.

The outright depression he showed was jarring enough that she removed her blame of him, even if his face and voice failed to display sadness. In Hadley's first letter to Sirius that summer, she told him of her observations and her godfather's reply did not fail to help her understand, if only a little.

_If he's only been a Seer for a year, it makes sense he would be devastated after the events of the twenty-fourth. The old Divination Professor at Hogwarts, before the old bat you told me about joined up, was a real Seer and told the class a good deal of what to expect if we attained the "gift" at our majorities._

_Until now, he probably hadn't Seen anything that his interference could effect to the extent of the Third Task. A Seer's visions become more important as time goes on. Where before he Saw an opportunity to help your chances in the Tournament, I suppose this time he saw many things to effect at once: Diggory's survival, your escape, Peter and Crouch Jr's capture. If I had to guess, I think he saw the chance to be a hero, and he blew it._

_If I had known thirteen years ago what could happen to your family and I captured Peter only to still fail them, I think I would be in a similar boat to him right now. How close he may really be to you or the Diggory boy doesn't matter in the end. He blew his chance to save people, maybe he bollixed it worse than he saw he could._

_I doubt there's anything you can do. If he has more useful visions, maybe he'll trust Dumbledore with them instead of acting on his own._

The answer may have sated Hadley's curiosity, but not her empathy.

Although, the morning the reply flew in with Hedwig was a bit too busy for her to pay much attention to her letter as it was. Hadley was instead buzzing about her newly expanded bedroom, now large enough that she had carelessly scattered her effects about without realizing and was trying to figure out where her dress robes had gotten to.

Of course, once she found them, slightly wrinkled and smelling of Crookshanks, she decided that her dress robes were probably too dressy for what was apparently only going to be a short meeting with a goblin banker and a Ministry representative. And since she couldn't use magic over the summer and Harry was a boy she couldn't exactly have them de-catted before she left anyway. The corseted bodice could only be spell-tied too, and Hadley didn't know the spell…

In the end she settled for her nicest school robes, the ones Hermione had cast a rather strong cooling charm on for her at the end of the year, with her least atrocious muggle clothing underneath. Maybe after the meeting she could take the time to visit Madam Malkins for some different robes. Even Hermione had robes other than for school or the Yule Ball after all. In all of Hogwarts, it seemed only Hadley wore school robes on the weekend.

An hour before the meeting time, she was ready. Similarly, a knock sounded on the door to the apartment. Hadley rushed over – Harry was sequestered in his room once more and had reinforced the silencing charms on it when a small explosion had drawn a noise complaint from the neighbors – glad that reaching the front door no longer meant squeezing between the couch and telly and opened it quickly.

On the other side was a pleasant surprise.

"Auror Tonks!" Hadley grinned at the pink-haired woman before her. Auror Tonks may have only been the assistant professor to not-Moody, but she had certainly been more kind and useful than he had. "What are you doing here?"

"Wotcher, Hadley. Didn't Professor Dumbledore tell you? I'm your escort to Gringotts," she shrugged, glancing around the apartment. It was a little cluttered, but clean at least. "Not a bad place you've got here. I was told I can't apparate you in case You-Know-Who already has eyes on the Underage Magic Maps, but I'm sure we can handle some muggle transport, yeah?"

Unlike most witches, Tonks seemed quite capable of blending in. Never mind the fact that she was a metamorphamagus, she apparently knew the muggle world well. With her torn up band t-shirt, combat boots, and shorts, Hadley might have mistaken her for another punk on the street.

Hadley nodded, smiled, and removed her outer robe to show her nicest muggle clothes beneath. They were a couple of years old, from a second hand shop, but Aunt Petunia had decided that dressing her in Dudley's cast-offs was unseemly and reflected badly on their well-to-do family. They were still a bit large on her, but at least she couldn't wear the shirt as a knee-length dress as she used to with Dudley's old clothes.

"Off we go then," Tonks smiled. And away they went.

Travelling the tubes with Tonks was more entertaining than with Harry, who often stared into space when they took the train to go grocery shopping, and less awkward than with Hagrid who had taken up almost an entire set of seats for himself when they had ridden together. Tonks seemed to love the strange looks they received as they made their way to The Leaky Cauldron, and when no one was looking she would change the shape of her nose to match theirs for an instant so only Hadley could see. It was a rather amusing way to spend half an hour.

At length, they arrived at Gringotts and waited another twenty minutes before Hadley's appointment slot was upon them. Tonks didn't follow when Hadley was led away by a young (she presumed) goblin acting as a guide to the appropriate office. Not that the hallways were difficult to navigate; they were all clearly marked and Hadley was fairly certain she could have ascertained the correct path on her own.

The door was knocked upon thrice by the goblin who then left immediately. The door opened three seconds later to reveal a goblin who looked much like any other goblin aside from the gold lapel on his red Gringotts uniform and that he was perhaps a bit taller than other goblins, if only marginally. His nose was long and pointed, his teeth sharp, and his demeanor was entirely uninterested.

He stepped back from the door and walked to the table in the center of the room, taking his place at the far end. Two chairs sat each at sides beside him on opposing sides of the table. In one sat what Hadley supposed was the average Ministry pencil-pusher. Middle-aged, with tall thin body like Ron's gone to seed from sitting at a desk for years. His hair was a mousy brown, thinning, and he pushed his glasses up his nose so often one might think he had never heard of a sticking charm.

Hadley took her seat and waited. It wasn't long before the goblin saw fit to commence their meeting.

"Considering that there is little to be done, this should not take long," the goblin's voice was high and reedy, but officious nonetheless. "In regards to the Potter will, only three things should require addressing, the rest having since been made redundant in one way or another." Hadley agreed, albeit reluctantly. She hadn't understood much of what Professor Dumbledore gave her at the start of the past school year – and during the Tournament had hardly thought of it – but even she knew certain things didn't really need to be taken care of.

Her money was in her vault. Sirius was in Azkaban. The old cottage had been sold to the Ministry as a war memorial. All those things were dealt with. Still, three seemed like a low number of things to be dealt with.

"The first matter is the submission of Lily Potter's charms journals to the Charm Mastery board," the goblin spared Hadley a glance as he said this. "Although not a Charms Mistress herself, Mrs Potter worked with experimental charms on commission from the board. That they had to wait so many years to receive the work is unfortunate but unavoidable." The man from the Ministry took note of this as a small stack of journals appeared at his side. He didn't so much as twitch.

"The second matter is, retroactively, regarding the matter of Hadley Potter's guardianship," the goblin continued. "Although mainly redundant at this point in time, it is still worth addressing. Sirius Black, the primary option as godfather, is a fugitive. Alice and Frank Longbottom are incapable. Remus Lupin is a werewolf and not legally allowed. Peter Pettigrew is deceased. Dorcas Meadowes and Marlene McKinnon are similarly deceased. Several families are specifically mentioned as not being options including any bearing the name Black other than Sirius Orion Black, any member of the Malfoy family, and other families of similar notoriety.

"It has been reported that Hadley Potter was placed with a family that was placed on the list of those she was not to go to, specifically her mother's sister's family. Ms Potter, would you like to press any charges regarding your placement or treatment there?"

Hadley jolted, shocked at that. "Er, no, not really," she managed to get out after a moment. She wasn't sure if he menat pressing charges against the Dursleys or Dumbledore, but either way she wouldn't want to. Dumbledore because, well, he was _Dumbledore_. He had only been trying to keep her safe. And for the Dursleys… if she never saw them again it would still be too soon.

"Very good. The third order of business is the allocation of small sums of gold, property, or other items to various friends of the Potters. The only one of them remaining alive or otherwise capable of handling money is Remus Lupin who shall receive a certain set of books from the cottage in Godric's Hollow and galleons equal to the sum of five hundred with interest accumulated in that vault from the years since its creation. Any gold, property, or other items willed to the deceased or those unable legally or otherwise to handle them are to be returned to the possession of Hadley Potter. This process will likely take two months or longer to handle. Are there any objections?"

The ministry man shuffled uncomfortably. "I have been ordered by the Minister's senior undersecretary to point out that werewolves are not legally allowed to inherit large sums of money, and that any amount exceeding what they are allowed is considered Ministry property to pay for any damages of therapies needed by victims past, present, and future of the aforementioned werewolves." He didn't seem to like having to say it, and while Hadley could understand the logic in it if it were a werewolf like the infamous Fenrir Greyback (though if he ever showed up at Gringotts he would be arrested on sight), Remus had never attacked anyone and never would.

"Of course, this does not apply to interest earned on an account to be turned over," the goblin didn't bat an eye and the ministry worker relaxed a bit. "Three hundred galleons will be deducted from the total. I believe that is all." He said the last with a tone of finality.

Hadley couldn't help but to object. "I was told when I received the packet containing my parents' will that I'm supposed to be allowed to try and get emancipated," she said this fairly quickly before either could move from their seats. "I was wondering what I would have to do to, er, apply?"

The Ministry worker blinked owlishly at her. "Oh my, someone has been remiss in their duties, haven't they? Ms Potter, you were entered into the Triwizard Tourrnament and chosen as a champion. That constituted a magically binding contract, something only those of age or the emancipated are legally allowed to participate in. You've been emancipated since October. In some later iterations of the tournament this was a primary reason for younger students to enter."

Ten minutes later walking into Madame Malkins' shop with Tonks, Hadley was still a bit surprised no one had told her of her emancipation. While it didn't mean a whole lot – she still wasn't allowed to perform magic outside of school until she turned seventeen – she thought someone would have told her. Was that something Hermione would have found in her research? Did Dumbledore know that and forget to tell her? Or did he not tell her on purpose?

Hadley thought not. After all, Dumbledore was the one to come clean and tell her about all of this in the first place. Besides, it wouldn't have affected anything during the school year anyway. It didn't matter then, and it might not have any bearing on her before she was properly of age anyway.

She trusted Dumbledore, really she did. He had omitted the truth before, but he told her before it became vital. Something she had yet to do with Ron and Hermione, Hadley realized. Before the Tournament she had thought to tell them after Christmas, and then the Tournament… well. She needed to tell her friends the truth too, before she pulled them irrevocably into what seemed to be an epic tale that would end in a duel to the death between her and Voldemort.

"I should write Ron soon," she murmured as she flicked idly through the pre-made robes on the rack.

"The Weasley boy?" Tonks chimed in. She was more enthusiastic about looking through the robes, though why Hadley couldn't imagine. She seemed entirely at home in the torn up muggle clothes. "Saw him this morning, got in a fight with his older brothers he did, when they dumped a set of dress robes on his head."

Hadley had given Fred and George her half of the Triwizard winnings – Cedric's parents refused to take her share to help pay for any expenses that St Mungo's didn't offer freely – with the caveat that they get Ron some new dress robes, preferably blue or brown. Still…

"You saw them this morning? Why were you at the Burrow?" Hadley forgot entirely about her mission to find new robes. This was odd.

"Ah, there's… well, Dumbledore said you'll find out in August, I'm actually incapable of telling you, literally you know," Tonks covered quickly. The pink of her hair was tinged redder from the standard bubblegum to match the small blush on her cheeks. "Your other friend is joining them soon I hear. But ah… well, unless you can meet with them somewhere other than where they are you won't see them until August. I think. Look, don't ask me anymore, alright? It's hard getting around the secrecy charms in my head. Owl Dumbledore or someone and he should tell you something.

And so Hadley owled Dumbledore and, two weeks later, Ron and Hermione would come stay a weekend with her and Harry in their flat. Harry was more scarce than ever, but he was more hygienic and was always out doing something unknown rather than brewing potions in his increasingly warded room.

Finally, July's end came, and with it Hadley's introduction to the Order of the Phoenix.

* * *

Harry didn't sleep. He didn't need to sleep, though the bags under his eyes said otherwise. He wasn't tired. He wasn't anything.

Not long before midnight on the twenty-fourth, Dumbledore had come to his door. The man wasn't happy. He said Fudge was refusing to believe Hadley's report of Voldemort's return, that Wormtail's soulless body was taken to St Mungo's but was most unidentifiable as himself after the last fifteen years and the loss of his recognizable hand. This was undoubtedly Harry's fault.

He insisted that in the future Harry should tell him of his visions, that he should let Dumbledore collaborate with him to make better plans to account for those visions. For, he stated, had he known about Mad-Eye Moody and Barty Crouch Jr, he could have saved Barty Crouch Sr's life, the unlawful abuse of many students, and further stalled the return of Voldemort. Had he even just known Harry had fetched Wormtail, they could have taken the man into custody then and there rather than let him be taken by the Kiss.

Harry might have been guilted into agreeing if it weren't for the fact that he was drugged up to his gills. Serenity Solution flowed through him in excess by then, with thrice his usual dose taken in only a few hours time.

So he smiled an empty smile at the man, told him it was a possibility, and returned to his musing on the couch soon after.

Of course Harry realized that his increase in his dosage that night would have a longer term affect. He didn't sleep that night and took his regularly scheduled dose of Serenity in the morning with breakfast. He wasn't terribly interested in food and ate only a single slice of toast. From prior experience he knew precisely what would start to happen at this point.

In what would have been his seventh year, his dependency on calming draughts had increased drastically and, with little to eat between him, Ron, and Hermione, there was less buffer between the potion swishing around in his stomach and all his vital organs. His dosage increased at first, to keep him calm and take the edge off of his hunger. Then, about two weeks later, it dropped off significantly. His body stopped getting hungry, and every potion was taken on an empty or near-empty stomach, as much as tripling the effectiveness. His calm confidence destroyed his sleeping patterns to the point where he was lucky to get more than two hours per night as he lay listening to his own heart beat.

Now, with a more potent potion flowing in him, he thought that it was likely to go faster. His metabolism, one day in, already showed signs of the effects where it had taken almost a week into calming draught diet to show the same level of alteration.

A few days later he picked up Hadley from King's Cross and sequestered himself in his room from thereon after. He spent over a week making more Serenity and researching into alternatives. The Draught of Peace, however, seemed too far a step. If he took even a single misstep with it, there would be no coming back from it. A single milliliter's difference could constitute an overdose, and he couldn't take that risk.

Not yet. Not until everything was done.

He had to make the Serenity Solution _last_, damn it! He wanted the calm, he wanted to feel nothing, to remove himself from the pain that feeling always caused him, but every step he took in that direction seemed like two steps back. He would keep going until there was nothing left of him.

He only needed to last long enough to save Hadley from what had happened in his life, and then he could be lost. But for now he had to keep going.

Weeks passed and Harry changed his focus. He went into Knockturn Alley a lot, sometimes to see if he could find dark artifacts to replace his potions without killing him, other times to look for books that might tell him things about horcruxes he hadn't previously known with no luck. At some point Ron and Hermione showed up. He didn't really remember when or how, just that one day they were in the apartment when he came home with groceries and he made them dinner. They were gone a few days later he thought.

Suddenly it was his birthday. And Hadley's birthday. And the day Dumbledore showed up with a single slip of paper bearing the address of the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. He left with no words but a smile. The paper scrap said that Harry and Hadley were expected by six that evening for a small birthday dinner for Hadley with the Weasleys and a meeting after. Both were invited to spend the rest of the summer vacation.

Harry was packed already. He didn't remember packing, but all of his potions to last him the next year if all went well were stowed in a bottomless box he'd enchanted in his trunk and anything that didn't fit in his trunk was in the bottomless messenger bag Hermione had made him before he left. He grabbed both and spent three hours in the kitchen and living room cleaning and setting things to be ready for at least four months of absence before Hadley got out of bed.

They arrived at Number 12 Grimmauld Place at noon. Hadley was whisked away by Sirius and the Weasleys, and though Molly made a show of asking after Harry's welfare and insisting he eat more at dinner, he knew it wasn't because she really cared for him specifically. It was just her way, and he was Hadley's "cousin".

Harry didn't even notice time passing before Hadley was being presented with gifts at the special dinner Mrs Weasley made for her. Harry had a gift for her too, somehow. He didn't remember buying it. Had he been to any shops that sold clothing? He didn't think so, but he gave her a package with self-sizing standard dueling apparel. His body ran on automatic to do it. He was busy pretending he hadn't seen half the people before him die.

At 8, other members of the Order began to show up, and anyone in the house who hadn't graduated yet with the exception of Hadley was ushered away.

"To those who do not know them, allow me to introduce our newcomers for today," Dumbledore smiled at the assembled members of the Order. Some of them Harry recalled seeing dead. Others he was uncertain of their fate or had only heard of their untimely demise. The sight of the real Mad-Eye Moody, still somewhat emaciated compared to his normal figure, made Harry glad he had managed to sneak his potion during dinner. How could he have done that to the man? Moody had risked so much for him – would risk so much for Hadley – and how did Harry repay him? By letting Umbridge take the man's eye and then letting Crouch hide him in a trunk for ten months.

"Hadley Potter, as you all know," Dumbledore waved his hand to the girl, cutting Harry from his thoughts. "She is present tonight due to the fact that our topic is largely related to her, though unless there is some very important new information regarding the subject this shall be her only time among us for at least another year or two.

"Our other guest tonight is in fact a new member, Hadley's cousin Harry," Dumbledore motioned now to Harry who nodded distractedly at everyone. He didn't look at Snape. The way the man was watching him was unsettling. He hadn't done that in the past year at Hogwarts, but he hadn't known who Harry was. Did he? He didn't seem to. "I can personally confirm his usefulness to the Order as a Seer and to keeping the students of Hogwarts safe as apprentice to our Divination Professor this coming year."

* * *

Grimmauld Place was exactly how it sounded, unfortunately. Knowing the house was Sirius' and that with Mrs Weasley's help everything that could be done to change was indeed being done did make Hadley feel a bit better, but she did feel bad for the man being cooped up in the old house. Ron and Hermione had been allowed out to visit her at least, even if Dumbledore had sworn them to secrecy until she arrived. Sirius was stuck though.

And with Wormtail kissed he might always be stuck.

In the rush of birthday wishes, presents, and cake, Hadley managed to forget about her godfather's fate for a while. She'd never had a birthday party before, so it seemed so grand to actually have people who cared for her surround her, praise her, _love _her on a day like this.

With the Dursley's, it was ignored if she was lucky. If she wasn't lucky they would make sure to give her insulting gifts like moldy old socks or, on one particularly vindictive year, a wire hanger. That year Petunia had made sure the telly was tuned to a documentary about fetal alcohol syndrome and abortions. Hadley had only been 8.

Her gifts were all great. Chocolate from Ron and Hermione, some dueling robes from Harry (he distractedly insisted they weren't very expensive when thanked), the poppyseed cake from Mrs Weasley, a couple of interesting looking books with uncommon charms from Sirius and Remus, and a box of experimental prank products from the twins that she was under no circumstances allowed to let their mother know about.

Dinner by comparison was mellow until members of the Order of the Phoenix started filtering in. Hadley waved to Tonks in greeting but otherwise recognized very few people. One or two looked like she might have seen them at Diagon Alley, and Professors Snape and McGonagall arrived near last. Mrs Weasley began ushering all the "children" out (though Fred and George were seventeen now).

"Molly, Hadley will be joining us just this once," Dumbledore admonished before she could be forced out. Mrs Weasley immediately turned on him.

"Professor, she's only just fifteen! You can't really-"

"I know and I am," the Headmaster shook his head. "She and her friends have shown themselves to be very good at unraveling secrets they should not, and as she is already aware of the majority of this one I think it best that she be allowed to learn the rest. If and how much of that secret she may feel comfortable to divulge to her friends at a later date is up to her. As you know, Molly, young Hadley is deeply involved in this, and if things continue as they are your sons may be as well. She will stay."

Hadley knew Mrs Weasley waned to fight it. Wanted to fight it tooth and nail. She wouldn't let Fred and George attend, and according to the twins had strongly protested Bill's inclusion early last month. So how could she stand to let Hadley in?

Except that Mrs Weasley wasn't her guardian. She didn't have one, unless one counted Harry as such. But not only did Dumbledore intend to allow her to stay, he _wanted_ her to stay. Even Mrs Weasley couldn't argue with the man when he said it was of vital import no matter how much she wanted to.

And so it was that Hadley learned that the prophecy about her and Voldemort was being kept in the Ministry and that Voldemort wanted to know what it said, that he was afraid of it but also thought of it as a weapon. Knowledge was power after all, and that prophecy was all the Order had on him in that area at the moment. That he wouldn't, maybe even couldn't, make a move until he knew what it was about the prophecy he had missed before trying to kill Hadley the first time.

"However," Dumbledore continued after the brief, "thus far our guard has been nearly ineffectual. Not because Voldemort has managed to pass us, but because he already knows much about the Department from one of his old Death Eaters now in Azkaban. It's possible, I believe, that he will search out more information, and his greatest resource there is his own man Rookwood. I do not believe it to be outside the realm of possibility for Azkaban to be broken into in the near future. Sirius was not the first to escape Azkaban, as we once thought, and I fear he will not be the last."

**Author's Note: Sorry about the week lost. My boyfriend had a family emergency and I wasn't going to leave him hanging. However, this may go to every-other-week schedule anyway since I have suddenly had success in selling the toys I make. And, well, y'know – time is money, folks. And my toys take quite a bit of time :/**

**In case you don't know what a "cold reading" is – basically it's observing a person's behavior and making inferences based on that and then giving vague predictions that they then elaborate on which you can make more observations about. (Example: Trelawney, in the first class, could easily observe that Neville was nervous and a little clumsy, so predicting he would break a cup was simple, and if he didn't she would say it was because he was more careful for her warning. It's easy to say something bad will happen any given day, so when Lavendar's rabbit died she could think Trelawney predicted that, when it's likely she could have been late to class, gotten sick, burned by a Skrewt, yelled at by Snape, or even just messed up her make-up and still assumed Trelawney predicted it.)**

**The bit with Harry thinking about Snape knowing who he is is another allusion to Broken Past (which I really should get around to writing). Long story short – this Harry's base timeline is that fic, which the premise is that Severus Snape is actually Harry Potter from the future. That is not the case in Hadley's timeline, but it is for Harry's base timeline. You can ignore those allusions entirely if you want and just say Harry's becoming paranoid due to his potions addiction (which he is).**


	12. Filled With Laughter

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Joanne Kathleen Rowling and associates, of whom I am not one. This is a rewrite of a fic from 4 years ago.

Warnings: AU, mentions of child abuse, ongoing theme of drug abuse, some character bashing (but only such that it follows canon and canon trends), spoilers through Deathly Hallows, coarse language, some minor OCs.

Chapter 12: Filled With Laughter

"Why did they let you in though?" Ron's lips were tight and his face slightly red. The room that had been his throughout the past month he would now be sharing with Harry, so he had reluctantly agreed to hold their meeting in the girls' room for the sake of avoiding the somewhat creepy older boy. "We've been here all summer and they haven't so much as let us stay long enough to finish dinner!"

Hadley couldn't help but smile. If it hadn't been for her staying with Harry all summer, she might think they were being unfair. After all, they were here, at the Headquarters of the main resistance against Voldemort's rise, so they surely must have heard something. But living with Harry, she knew how secretive wizards could be when they wanted. Silencing charms, imperturbable charms… Harry may have had no skill in warding, but he knew enough charms to cast on his walls and doors for that to not matter.

Living in a house where wizards were constantly coming and going and Dumbledore himself had done the warding, she could understand just how little they knew and how frustrating it must have been.

"It's because… remember what I told you the other weekend? About that prophecy?" Hadley kept her voice low. Ginny was helping clean up in the kitchen, the twins were probably researching something for pranking purposes in their room, and most of the Order members who weren't living at Headquarters had left, but she couldn't be too careful.

"Is that what they've been having all those meetings about? But that doesn't make any sense! The twins said they overheard Mundungus Fletcher complaining about some sort of guard duty last week," Hermione frowned, her brow furrowing. "Unless tonight's was different than normal?"

"No… well…" Hadley bit her lip. "The guard duty has to do with the prophecy. Professor Dumbledore said the Department of Mysteries has a room filled with prophecies, every prophecy spoken somehow ends up there. Dumbledore didn't explain how, maybe he doesn't even know. But the one about me and Voldemort is there too. He said that Voldemort only heard part of it, and doesn't want to really go into the open until either he knows the rest or he has enough influence again that it won't matter.

"The guards are there less to hold someone off and more to be an early warning system if Voldemort sends anyone to scout out the Department. Only people who are part of a prophecy can pick it up, or those who know the whole thing, so only me, Voldemort, and Dumbledore could do that. He said that maybe Professor Trelawney could too, but that was only a guess since she doesn't remember her own prophecies."

"And that's it?" Ron eyed Hadley. "That's all they were keeping from us?"

"Probably not," Hadley brushed her hair behind her ear. "They kicked me out before the end too, you know. But… I suppose that has to do with why Snape is here tonight, right? He probably has a report about Voldemort's movements. In the pensieve, I told you how he was a spy before didn't I?"

"Well yeah, but…" Ron frowned, his ire thoroughly dampened. "I just don't get it mate. We've been here all summer and all they do is tell us to help clean. I've already got my fingers nipped by doxies in the linen closet, and there have been at least two boggarts that attacked. One was living under my bed for the first week. I thought it was just nightmares until Mum popped in to check on me and screamed bloody murder."

"She did, really," Hermione winced. "It woke everyone else up. By the time Ginny and I got to the door Mr and Mrs Weasley had gotten rid of it, but it was… it was ridiculous. This house isn't just unhygienic, it's dangerous. For everyone."

"Mum didn't want to move straight in, you know," Ron countered, as if the statement were a slight against him. "She wanted to come in and get all the creatures out before letting us all in, but… Dumbledore needed the house as Headquarters. The Ministry was already banging at the door of the house Professor Lupin was living in, and they had to hide Buckbeak somewhere… Mum only agreed because Professor Lupin and Sirius were already living here since the day before we left Hogwarts."

"Aside from that, we haven't been told anything of any sorts of movements in the Ministry or Death Eaters," Hermione sighed. "We aren't even allowed to look at the Prophet most of the time. Bill sometimes tells us there hasn't been anything in the prophet about You-Know-Who to hide from us, but… the Twins are going to steal one tomorrow morning, if they can. Then we'll find out why."

"You, um, you don't need to," Hadley grimaced. She had only looked at a few of Harry's Daily Prophet's, and while what she thought was being hidden wasn't front page news, it tended to be rather prominent. "The Prophet is dragging Dumbledore and I through the mud because we said Voldemort is back. It's bringing up all these things from the past like Dumbledore's questionable hiring choices, or me saying in third year that Sirius was innocent, and he's lost most of his titles I think. He came by for tea after he lost his position on the Wizengamot, said he didn't mind so long as he didn't lose his chocolate frog card, but it still must be a blow."

"Oh, we… we hadn't heard _anything_," Hermione bit her lip. "But I suppose for Dumbledore it can't be all bad. If he has fewer positions in the Ministry then he must have more time for the Order and Hogwarts. If he also had to deal with Court proceedings all the time, I don't think he would be able to effectively juggle everything."

Hadley hadn't thought of it that way. She had only seen it the way the Ministry was undoubtedly seeing it – they were taking power out of Dumbledore's hands. But he was the only wizard Voldemort feared because of magical power rather than political clout.

"I guess you're right," Hadley nodded slowly.

"Dumbledore aside, what are they saying about you?" Hermione was eyeing Hadley, cautious and concerned. Ron was looking a bit confused by it all but apparently determined. She couldn't have picked better friends.

"Less than they could be, since I'm not exactly showing up door to door telling people to Voldemort-proof their houses," Hadley smiled lightly, but still cautious. "Mostly it's just questioning how sound of mind I was after being kidnapped by 'the unidentified Kissed Death Eater and Mad-eye's imposter' rather than really saying I'm a liar. Whoever the fake Moody is, the Ministry isn't releasing any information on his trial. Harry says he's Barty Crouch's son who died in Azkaban, which means he must have escaped before, but they put him in on a life sentence after a closed trial. And since that was after Dumbledore was removed from the wizengamot, I don't think even _he_ knows what went on in there."

"Unless he was a witness for what happened at the task," Ron shrugged. "I mean, he and the real Mad-Eye are friends, right? And I don't think they could've kept Mad-Eye out if they _tried_. Mum is in a tizzy over his comings and goings every day as it is!" He winced a bit at the last. Hadley could understand. She had barely even met the real Mad-Eye but he was both less frightening to her than the fake and still somehow more intimidating.

"I think you're right, Ron," Hermione was biting her knuckle as she thought, not looking at anything in particular. "Not that there's anything we can do. Your father said Cedric is still in the hospital, so whatever it was that was done to him was serious. Whatever the fake Moody really did, whether he was part of You-Know-Who's conspiracy or something else entirely, I think… I think he _deserves_ life in Azkaban after that."

Hadley sighed and nodded with Hermione's assertion. "It would be better if Cedric hadn't been attacked or Wormtail kissed though. He deserved it too, but only after Sirius got his name cleared. It's not fair."

Half an hour later, Mrs Weasley called curfew and demanded Ron return to his own room with Harry and let Ginny return to the room she was splitting with Hadley and Hermione. In that same time, she turned Hermione's bed into a bunk bed with some handy transfigurations, now making it more clear how the three girls would manage to sleep together.

After lights out, the girls weren't ready to sleep yet. Hadley had questions of her own.

"Hermione, did you get to see your parents this summer at all?" She had wondered that since Hermione and Ron had stayed the weekend at the flat, but hadn't found the opportunity to ask.

Hermione was silent for a moment. "Only a day or two. We were going to go on holiday, like we always do, but… I thought I was needed here, in Britain, to help you," Hermione's voice was quiet as she spoke, but it grew stronger as she went on. Hadley could hear Ginny holding her breath. "Every year when the adventure ends after exams, it's over. That's how it was every summer. But… it's not over this year. If I went on holiday with my parents this year, I would still be thinking about You-Know-Who. And if you aren't allowed a holiday from him, I think I need to be here for you."

"But your family –"

"Hadley, you may as well be family too." The sound of Hermione's hair brushing cloth as she shook her head vigorously in the dark was harsh. "My parents don't _need_ me to go on holiday with them, they want it. And even though I wanted it too, and to take them to Bulgaria to meet Viktor… I think it's better this way. And they understand, a bit. They went to boarding schools too, even if they didn't have death defying adventures every term."

Hadley wasn't sure how to respond. And, she supposed, she probably shouldn't. It was Hermione's sacrifice to make.

Instead, Ginny piped up. "So you were planning to introduce your parents to _Vicky_ then? I hadn't thought you were that serious."

"His name isn't Vicky! And w-well, I… Viktor invited me to visit over the summer, that's all, and my parents have never been to Bulgaria, and I know they wanted to meet the first boy I went out with since Dad didn't get to give him the strict father speech before the Yule Ball…" Hermione trailed off. Hadley was sure she could picture just how red Hermione was going as she wound to a halt.

The girls' room at Number 12, Grimmauld Place was filled with laughter and light-hearted nudging until they fell asleep.

* * *

Sirius Black, as Harry discovered, was a hard man to avoid. Not only did Sirius know the old house like the back of his hand, something Harry had never managed, but he had everyone in the house on his side in trying to corner Harry for a chat. It was only by ducking into the loo at the right moments and joining in group cleaning that Harry managed to avoid Sirius' attempts to talk to him for the three days he did.

On the third of August, Harry found himself confronted with Sirius as he re-entered the room that was that week's cleaning project for Mrs Weasley and her many helpers. Her many helpers who, apparently, had gone to the kitchen for an early lunch while Harry was in the bathroom to sneakily take his Serenity Solution.

On the bright side, it was good timing.

"We haven't had the chance to speak yet, Harry, but by this point you know who I am, right?" Sirius was eyeing him strangely, in a way no one else in the house had.

"Sirius Black, the second man ever to escape Azkaban prison, dog animagus, and Hadley's godfather," Harry nodded. Facts were safe. He was calm and everything was fine, and simple facts were perfectly safe.

"Right, right," Sirius looked a little uncomfortable under Harry's stoic gaze, but it seemed like most were. "As Hadley's godfather, I need to make sure you've been taking care of her properly. You may be her official caretaker until she is properly of age, but…" He hesitated.

Harry smiled, lightly, a serene look that made Sirius look even more uncomfortable. "You have questions."

"You look like _James_," Sirius was eyeing him harder, but Harry didn't twitch. It was surprising, true. Since his hair had grown shaggy last year – and stopped growing as it tended to do – and it had been lightly bleached by the sun to make it look a dark reddish brown rather than the previous jet black, he hadn't looked like James. He looked more and more like his grandfather Briar from the pictures.

"Do I? The family my surname comes from is muggle," Harry shrugged. There might still be some resemblance, but no one else had mentioned James Potter. No Hogwarts professor or student seemed to make any connection, and it had taken months for anyone to even realize his relation to Hadley.

Sirius wasn't amused. "I went to school with James for years. We were roommates, best friends, and I outright lived with the Potters the last two years of my schooling," Sirius was looking at Harry closely now. "You look like a Potter, kid."

"Well… I'm sorry?" Harry didn't know how to respond, so he reiterated his false origin story. "I'm only related to Hadley through the Evanses. We have a grandfather in common through a pre-marital affair, and my mum, who would have been Hadley's aunt, married into a muggle family with the name Potter. I was raised off and on between my alcoholic uncle and my morally bankrupt grandmother. If either of them were related to the magical Potter family, they certainly didn't look it."

"I suppose it could be a coincidence, but you have-"

Harry didn't get to find out what he had as the cleaning crew re-entered the parlor, some still eating and Ron bearing a tray full of sandwiches. Molly Weasley was at the back, making sure none of her children tried to escape to cleaner pastures, and it was she who spoke first.

"Oh, Sirius, there you are! The Headmaster is in the kitchen waiting to speak with you about improving the wards on the house," Molly's smile to Sirius was as strained as Harry remembered. She turned her look to Harry, similarly not-quite-friendly. "Harry dear, I think he'll want to speak to you next, so you may wish to toddle on."

Harry and Sirius both chimed a "Yes Mrs Weasley" at the directions, Sirius' considerably more annoyed and mocking that Harry's. Harry stayed a little longer than Sirius did to sling a couple of scourgifies at the window. That, as Molly had said, was alright to do by magic, unlike most of the cleaning as much of the grime and dust could have soaked up the dark magicks of the house.

However, Harry didn't head to the front hall and stand beside the portrait of Sirius' mother and wait to be allowed into the kitchen. Instead he made his way to the drawing room and a certain glass cabinet full of dark magical artifacts. Slytherin's Locket was resting atop a box that, if memory stood, was full of instant wart powder. One _alohamora_ later and Harry was picking up the locket. He thought he could almost feel the dark magic in it trying to make him angry, but his fresh dose of Serenity made the magical probe naught but a tickle to him.

The sharp _crack_ of Kreacher apparating beside him did not make Harry jump, though it was a close thing.

"Filthy half-blood will unhand Master Regulus' locket!" Kreacher's voice was grating on Harry's ears. It had been nice, when he had gained Kreacher's favor by giving him the fake locket and promising to destroy the real one. The mad elf had been much better after that point. But Harry was certain that, when they had initially tossed the horcrux in the trash, Kreacher had simply snuck it out, not confronted them.

Then again, Sirius wasn't in the room, so there was that.

"No, the filthy half-blood won't," Harry opened the clasp at the back of the necklace and closed it around his neck. The weight of it was foreign to him after the many months that had passed since he last wore it. "The filthy half-blood is taking it. I'm going to destroy this thing, Kreacher. I'm going to take it with me to Hogwarts, down into the Chamber of Secrets itself, and destroy it. Do you understand?"

"Filthy… you is going to finish Master Regulus' work?" Kreacher's eyes were wider than normal. "You know how?"

"I'm going to try, but do you know what his work really was? It wasn't just destroying this locket," Harry plastered on a small fake smile. "It was destroying items like this that Voldemort enchanted. A ring, a diary, a snake, a cup, a diadem, a locket. Two are dealt with, and then this one." Harry lifted the locket with one finger before slipping it under his robes. "Whether they know it or not, what this Order living here is doing is finishing your true master's work."

While the elf was stunned and quiet as Harry left the drawing room and headed down to the Kitchen. Sirius was leaving just as Harry arrived. He still eyed Harry curiously, but made no more fuss about him looking like James.

Harry passed his not-godfather at the doorway and wondered, but he didn't make a fuss. Dumbledore was at the kitchen table, a large tray of sandwiches before him. Harry didn't feel hungry, but he knew he should eat. If he kept eating and trying to sleep and trying not to increase his dose of Serenity Solution each day, it would last him that much longer.

He didn't _want_ to move on to the Draught of Peace. Not if he didn't have to.

"Headmaster," Harry greeted. He took a sandwich and tore a bite off of it. It was completely without flavor. Unless Mrs Weasley had let someone else make sandwiches – not likely – that was not a good sign regarding Harry's addiction.

"Harry, glad you could join me," the Headmaster smiled, but it was not quite right. His eyes weren't twinkling like normal. "There are a few matters to deal with today, but first I was wondering if there was anything you might like to bring up yourself?"

Harry thought a moment. "How are the wards on keeping out Dark objects?" he asked. "This question is not based on prediction sir, at least not any that will require your attention soon, but for the here and now. If there was an object of extremely dark magic, what would the wards do?"

Comparing Dumbledore's normal twinkle to the dark look now presented to him, Harry could tell how the question affected him. "At one time it would have barred the bearer of the object and shut off all access to the castle," he said, "whereas now all the wards do is alert me of lesser dark objects and perhaps make the air thicker around the bearer. Any owls carrying them are redirected for confiscation of course."

"Which is how the diary made it through," Harry nodded. Unless it had been in Ginny's trunk, he supposed. The elves apparated through Hogwarts' wards like they didn't even exist after all. "I'll be bringing an artifact of significance through with me at term start. I'll destroy it then too. I'd do it here, but the only things that can do it…" he paused was letting Dumbledore know about the horcruxes early going to change anything? "It is like that diary. Fire won't destroy, neither will physical force. The only things I know of that can do it are Fiendfyre and basilisk venom."

"I see," Dumbledore intoned. Harry wondered whether or not he really _did_ see. Did he understand that what Harry wore around his neck was exactly the same as the diary, or did he just think of the Sword of Gryffindor, sitting in its elaborate casing in his office? It didn't really matter, Harry supposed. "As a member of the staff you are expected at the school one week before term starts. You will be working extensively with Sybill. Let me know when you intend to arrive; I don't suggest using the Floo."

"Of course, sir," Harry nodded. Good. That would make his plans easier. "When the time comes, don't bother with the cave. Of the things you could possibly fetch yourself, only Gringotts and the Gaunt family have your answers. The other two will have to keep breathing until Voldemort himself is dead."

Dumbledore, too his credit, didn't react much to that. Of course, he hadn't had his months off from Hogwarts to truly research horcruxes just yet either. He would have no idea what Harry was talking about until he really drew the connection. Mentioning the Gaunts by name, however, was a rather large clue.

"Thank you, Harry. On to other business, then." From there the Headmaster went into further detail regarding the terms of Harry's employment at Hogwarts and again made certain that Harry knew he ought to inform the Headmaster of any other "important visions" such as what occurred in June. The Headmaster left satisfied. Harry merely shrugged at his departure and returned to cleaning with the others.

Except to apologize later that same night, Sirius didn't speak to Harry again for the rest of the month.

* * *

A girl to girl talk had been exactly what Hermione needed going into the second month of the summer holiday. Her parents had returned from their shortened trip in July, and Hermione borrowed both Hedwig and Pig from their respective owners the day after Harry and Hadley's arrival. She revealed, after writing her letters and sending them away, that the quick Pig was headed for her parents, to ask if they were still up for a trip to Bulgaria. The durable Hedwig was flying to Bulgaria to ask if Viktor would still appreciate a visit. The eagle owl they were using as penpals had been sent off the day before, though Hermione suspected Hedwig might overtake it regardless.

Hermione had both her replies by the end of the first week of August and through sheer force of will managed to arrange between her parents and Viktor that the third week of August would be spent in Bulgaria. Mrs Weasley, as much as she loved Hermione, somewhat disapproved of her going on vacation specifically to see a boy, and an older boy at that.

But there wasn't much she could do when Bill was tasked with escorting Hermione to Heathrow airport to take an International portkey with her parents, and Mrs Weasley had to sit on her hands.

Hadley felt glad for her friend. Whether Hermione and Krum were still involved or not – a point that Hermione never clarified, come to think of it – she was maintaining the connections she made that year. Hadley hadn't really made friends with her fellow champions except perhaps a little with Cedric. Krum was the older superstar who was dating her best friend. Fleur was the glamorous French girl who deigned to give Hadley a little advice.

Hadley would have been proud to call any of them friends of course, but the small connections she had to the older competitors were enough for her. Fleur was dating Bill, Krum had dated or was dating Hermione, and that was a closer relationship than she had ever thought to have with anyone abroad.

Meanwhile Cedric was still in a coma. Hadley did hope he got better soon. Dumbledore had told her the day before Hermione left for Bulgaria that the healers had managed to figure out what damage the close range cruciatus had done to Cedric. It wouldn't be permanent, but having the harmful magic go straight through his temple… it would be a long recovery, at least a year before anyone would dare let him hold a wand, let alone allow his magic to do anything but focus on healing him.

She wished Mr and Mrs Diggory had accepted the entirety of the money rather than demanding she keep her half. Cedric deserved it most, she thought.

Cleaning out the drawing room gave her entirely too much time to think, Hadley thought as she dumped several items of unknown nature from the cabinet into a magically expanded bag of trash beside her. Ron was tackling the curtains with his brothers, using aim and teamwork to take down every doxy that thought it could get the better of them.

"Keep that one," Harry's voice floated from where he was clearing the flu of the fireplace adjacent. Hadley looked at him but he didn't even seem to have looked at her. "The twins will want it. But don't open it and tell them to use gloves when they do."

Hadley's hand was resting on a small wooden box with some grotesque carvings on it. She dropped it in the bag the twins had provided her for things she thought they might like. It was, until then, empty. Most of the items in the cabinet were very dark after all.

Harry spoke up twice more as Hadley swiped things into her bag. She didn't know how he knew that the enchantments on those items weren't dark, but one more item made its way to Fred and George's bag and the other was given over to Mrs Weasley for a more thorough inspection.

After dinner that night was another Order meeting, one which Hadley was not included on. Sirius, however, had other plans. After the meeting he had Hadley follow him to the now mostly-cleared drawing room.

Sirius didn't bother to segue.

"Peter's body gave out last week, and the Ministry buried him at the same ceremonial grave that was given to him fourteen years ago," Sirius' voice was emptier than it should have been. Like his dreams were dead. "It's not public knowledge, it was done in the dead of night, but the guard outside the Department of Mysteries heard Lucius Malfoy and the Minister talking after a full session of the wizengamot today. A lot of higher ups know that Peter was alive until that Kiss, but they aren't going to give me a trial. Next year's an election year, after all."

"But…" Hadley couldn't really do anything as Sirius grabbed her and hugged on tight. "S-Sirius… I don't get it! If they know, why… wasn't the Minister back then Bagnold? It's not like clearing you would make Fudge look bad…" Sirius' breathing was a little hitched. Hadley could feel it in her cheek that he had pressed to his chest.

"It… after all that's happened… if he rescinds the Kiss order…" Sirius swallowed. "Unless Fudge loses his position and someone like Amelia Bones is made Minister, I might not ever be free."

Hadley was silent in the embrace. She was uncomfortable, both physically as her back was bent in an odd way, and emotionally. She wanted to tell Sirius it would be okay, that there was no way Fudge would be re-elected and Dumbledore would regain his clout so he could demand Sirius get a trial. But could he? Could he really? It didn't seem like it. It didn't seem like it at all.

All she could do was hug him back as he played with her hair. Sirius needed the comfort then more than she needed to scramble to say something that could easily not be true. He was cooped up here and the way things were looking he might not be able to leave.

Unless, of course, Voldemort started acting in the open and Sirius was openly seen fighting Death Eaters or some such. But that hardly seemed likely, as much as Hadley would love for her godfather to be free. And it was looking like Dumbledore wasn't going to let Sirius leave the house without his name cleared. The Death Eaters almost definitely knew about his animagus form, Wormtail would have told his lord, so Sirius couldn't even be taken out for walks in London in that form without risking the Death Eaters figuring out that the Order was stationed in the city.

"I'm sorry, Sirius," Hadley mumbled into his chest. Sirius didn't reply, only continued petting Hadley's curls until his breath calmed and he fell asleep on the stuff old couch. Hadley extricated herself from his limp grasp and made her way back to the room she shared with Ginny.

She wished Hermione hadn't gone to Bulgaria already. She would have known what to do.

**Author's Note: Sorry that this was a further week late, but I have been making toys (and mostly new designs – I don't know how to follow a crochet pattern anyway, so I make up all my own patterns as I go, meaning it takes longer). I cannot make toys and write all at once. I am pretty busy most of September though due to me and my boyfriend's birthdays, school starting, and a few opportunities to sell my toys at public events in my area, so hopefully you guys will still get two chapters then. Plus I finally got my etsy shop up so… if anyone actually orders anything from me, updates might get more sporadic. But it would also mean I have money, so there's that. I will not be at Kumoricon however. No money for it.**

**Of course, this chapter was never actually in my chapter plans. But I realized after writing last chapter that there were a lot of things that ought to be addressed in the summer rather than after school starts (and last chapter didn't manage to squish in Harry taking the locket). And here we are. A couple things I'm looking forward to will be happening in the next couple of chapters though, so let's hope my inspiration stays strong!**

**Finally – I have a poll up for what I should focus on next. It includes another fem!Harry (of a sort – Harry grew up thinking he was a boy and found out he wasn't. Lots of trans issues in that one), a very AU HP world (where Slytherin won the duel with Gryffindor, and what it's like 1000 years later – might just be a one-shot), and a mute!Harry (where instead of killing Harry and Neville, Voldemort decides that handicapping them is more cruel). The first chapter of Broken Past should be up soon though.**


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